Through The Ashes
by Scribblesinink
Summary: What if-AU. When Freddy lay dying in his arms, Jake swore he'd get Anna—and Freddy's unborn baby—safely away from San Diego. Suspecting Ravenwood is still on their trail, even after they make it out of the city, Jake decides to accompany Anna until he can leave her with her parents in Houston. (Full summary in chapter 1)
1. Chapter 1

**Author notes**: Many, many, thanks to Tanaqui for relentless cheerleading and handholding, when I thought the story sucked and should be scrapped entirely. And of course for stellar beta and editing work. Without her, this story would've been so much worse...  
>Though some of the places mentioned in this story really exist, I've taken geographical liberties with the layout and appearance of those places, and the states they exist in. And while I don't think it's strictly necessary, it may help to read my story <em>Triage<em> first.

**Summary**: _What if_-AU. When Freddy lay dying in his arms, Jake swore he'd get Anna—and Freddy's unborn baby—safely away from San Diego. Suspecting Ravenwood is still on their trail, even after they make it out of the city, Jake decides to accompany Anna until he can leave her with her parents in Houston. His own plans for going to Jericho and talking to his father about his grandfather's inheritance can wait a few days longer. Little does Jake know those few days will turn into months...

o0o

**Chapter 1**

"Come with me." Anna clutched her purse more tightly under her arm, the envelope of cash Jake had pressed on her already hidden deep at the bottom. "You can start over, too." She peered up at him, a mixture of misery and hope on her face.

A mechanical voice over the Albuquerque bus station's PA system gave the call for her bus: "Platform six for Houston." Despite the early hour, the morning sun was already warm, and its glare reflected off of the white buses around them. Jake had to squint to meet Anna's gaze.

He shook his head. "No, I can't." Much as he wanted to simply get on another bus with her and disappear, it wasn't possible. He had something else to take care of first. "Not yet."

He'd spent the bus ride here, from San Diego to Albuquerque, going over his options, trying to figure out what to do. He had no real choice: he was flat out of money and, in their haste to get away, had brought nothing with him except the clothes on his back and the spare jeans and shirt in his duffel. Although it was the last thing he wanted, he had to return to Jericho. If he could get Dad to release the money Grandpa had left him, he could―he suppressed a wry huff: _if_ he could get Dad to release the money. He wasn't holding out much hope he'd convince his father he'd changed―not with Freddy's blood still staining the creases of his palms―but five years was a long time, and perhaps his father's outlook would be different.

In any case, it was past time he said his farewells to his grandfather. If nothing else came of it, he'd have peace of mind, at least.

He was about to give Anna a light nudge in the direction of her platform, confirming she should go alone, when he caught sight of a black SUV rolling slowly by the bus station from the corner of his eye. He froze with his hand half-raised, not hearing Anna's answer as he tracked the car. It probably meant nothing: black SUVs were a dime a dozen, and sometimes a car was just a car. But―.

Freddy's warning echoed in his mind: _They're gonna come after you._

"All passengers for Houston. Platform six." For a second time, the warning rang out, in the dull, toneless voice of an announcer who'd uttered the same words countless times.

The SUV turned the corner and disappeared from view without slowing. Jake hesitated, doubting his choice again. Maybe he should see Anna safe all the way to her parents' house. Jericho would wait; it had been five years and if it took him a few extra days to get there, it'd make no difference. But _was_ that the right decision? As he'd assured Anna, Ravenwood likely wouldn't be interested in her any longer once she'd parted ways with Jake; they were far likelier to chase him than her, and if he went in another direction, he'd lure them away from her. On the other hand, she wasn't home yet, and if he let her go on alone and something happened to her or the baby...

_All I care about is Anna and my kid. _The words Freddy had gasped with his dying breath echoed in Jake's brain. He took Anna's elbow.

"Let's go."

"Jake? What―?" His sudden urgency startled her, and she shook him off.

He didn't want to explain, didn't want to distress her without a reason. After all, his fear that the SUV was government issue―or Ravenwood issue―didn't necessarily make it true. "I've changed my mind, I'm coming with you."

Her face lit up with relief. "Then hurry!"

She followed on Jake's heels as they wound around empty buses and a few cars dropping people off, until they located platform six. Passengers were already boarding the coach, its engine running and rumbling deeply so the entire bus vibrated visibly.

"Go ahead. I'll be right there." Giving Anna a last, gentle push toward the bus, Jake jogged over to the ticket office and joined the short line of people wanting to buy tickets. As he reached the front of the line and gave his destination to the tired-looking woman behind the counter, the disembodied voice announced overhead, "Last call for Houston. Platform six."

Jake hopped impatiently on the balls of his feet, glaring at the ticket-seller to hurry up. It'd just be his luck if he missed the bus at the last second. It seemed to take forever, but she finally slid his ticket across. She never even looked at him.

Snatching up the ticket, Jake sprinted to the platform, his duffel bouncing against his back. The bus driver blinked ruefully at him as he squeezed through doors that were already hissing shut, but he didn't say a word.

Anna was sitting in the same place as they had on the bus out of San Diego: partway along the aisle, occupying a window seat. She'd put her purse on the seat beside her.

"That was close." She gave him a tired smile and moved her purse so he could sit down.

Shoving their bags into the overhead bin, he slipped in beside her. He nodded absently, peering out of the window in search of the SUV while trying not to be obvious about it.

He didn't see the SUV, not then or at any point along the route to I-40. As the bus gathered speed, settling in for the long haul, he blew out a relieved breath. Perhaps it had been a false alarm after all. Resting his head against the seat, he allowed himself to relax.

o0o

Dusk saw Jake and Anna a dozen miles south of Vernon, Texas. The hills of New Mexico had given way to the farm fields of the Texas panhandle hours ago. As the bus went on rambling through the landscape, Jake wriggled in his seat, trying to make himself more comfortable. "Sorry," he muttered when he stabbed Anna with an elbow.

"'s Okay." She offered him a wan smile in return.

_She looks tired_. Her eyes were dull with fatigue and grief. Jake was very aware in that moment that _he_ wasn't supposed to be the one sitting next to her, and he suspected Anna was as well.

At least they'd apparently shaken off their tail―if there ever had been one. They'd eaten an early lunch at a roadside restaurant in Amarillo, during a layover waiting for their connecting bus that lasted several hours. While Anna picked at a burger and fries, Jake had scanned every passing car, paying extra attention to any vehicle turning into the parking lot. Nobody had seemed unduly interested in either Anna or himself, and he'd seen nothing to further raise his suspicions they were being followed.

He shifted again, still trying to alleviate the numbness in his butt, and wistfully pictured his old, speedy Roadrunner, gathering dust under a tarp in a Denver garage. It had been a long night, and an even longer day, and they weren't halfway to Houston yet.

"Why don't you take a seat opposite?" Anna suggested when Jake repositioned himself a third time. He blinked at her, puzzled. "It's not like there's no room."

She had a point there: the bus was less than half full and there were plenty of empty seats. He regarded her more carefully, searching for a hidden meaning behind her suggestion. Was she regretting she'd asked him to come with her?

"I didn't―." Faint color rose in her cheeks, as if she knew what he was thinking. "I mean, you'd have more space there." She grinned shyly. "And what could possibly happen to me?"

"You're right. Sorry." The seats _were_ narrow. He offered her a lopsided grin to concede the point. "I'll be―." He waved vaguely and got to his feet. Anna immediately took advantage of the space he'd created, drawing up one leg and curling her foot under her as Jake plopped down on the other side of the aisle. With two seats to himself, he no longer needed to be mindful about accidentally bumping into her every time he moved and, as he quickly discovered, he could relax more easily. He shot her another grin, a grateful one this time, and she smiled back as he made himself comfortable.

Outside, endless wheat and corn fields were gliding by, their crops tainted red with the light of the sun sinking toward the western horizon. Jake squinted into its hot glow for a while, before letting his eyes drift shut. Sprawled over the two seats, he settled in for a cat nap. What else was there to do while the bus chugged along?

Without warning, the driver slammed the brakes, hard. People shouted in surprise and the sudden jolt propelled Jake off his seat as the bus screeched to a halt. He barely had time to brace himself against the back of the seat in front of him to avoid slamming into it face first. His eyes flew open. What the...?

"Oh my God..." Anna's breath hitched as she whispered the words.

Jake swung toward her, concerned. "Are you hurt?"

She wasn't looking at him. "Jake, look..."

He didn't need to ask what she was talking about. The bus was angled on the road, having skidded sideways during its emergency stop. The window on Anna's side was facing directly southeast, giving him an unhindered view of the strip of asphalt running off toward the horizon. And on the horizon—.

Jake's jaw dropped and he had a strong urge to scrub at his eyes, thinking what he was seeing wasn't real. He recognized the imagery, of course; had seen it in history books and old photographs, and CGI'ed into a dozen apocalyptic science fiction movies. Never in his worst nightmares, not even during those deadly days in Iraq, where every trip down Route Irish meant running a gauntlet of snipers and IEDs, had he ever dreamed he'd see it for real: the mushroom cloud of what could only be a nuclear explosion.

In a way, it was beautiful. The mushroom rose hundreds, no, thousands of feet into the air, slowly billowing higher and higher, the setting sun painting the cloud in bright pink and deep purple and warm orange, the colors starkly offset against the darkening sky to the east.

After a few moments—or maybe it was minutes, Jake wasn't sure—he became aware of the heavy, dazed silence around him. He must've moved across the aisle, finding himself half-standing behind Anna, leaning forward over her, his hands curled around the tops of the seats in front and behind her.

A girl several rows to the front whimpered, the sound loud in the stunned quiet of the bus. Tearing his eyes away from the horrific column of smoke, Jake glanced in her direction. He'd seen her board in Abilene, surprised she was traveling on her own when she looked only twelve or thirteen. He hadn't known the bus company allowed unaccompanied young teens.

"Is... Is that... Dallas?" If not for the silence that reigned in the bus, the softly stammered question would never have reached Jake's ears. Swiveling his head toward the speaker, Jake saw an elderly woman sitting a few rows further back beside an equally elderly man―her husband, he guessed. Her lined face was pale beneath a cap of gray curls, and the blusher she'd painted on her cheeks stood out sharply. Her eyes were round, glued to the scene in the distance.

"I don't know," her husband whispered back, his voice low and as heavy with shock as hers.

"Jake?" Anna gripped Jake's arm, her fingers digging into his flesh, asking him the same question. He shook his head: he had as little idea as the old man what was happening. The angle of view, the direction, both were exactly right for Dallas, and it was certainly far enough away, even though they could see the cloud clearly. Jake simply couldn't picture any other objective that would've been targeted for such an explosion.

_Maybe it was an accident_, he cautioned mentally, stopping his imagination from running wild. Even in Iraq, dumb luck and accidents had happened. And an accident would be preferable over the alternative...

"What do we do now?" The questioner was a blonde woman in her forties, who'd sequestered herself with a paperback book in the back of the bus. She was still holding the book, her finger curled to mark the page she'd stopped reading at. Jake didn't think she was aware of it.

Nobody answered. Far to the southeast, the smoke was slowly dissipating, the colors dulling as the sun sank beneath the horizon in the west.

"We're going back." The driver's voice rang loud in the silence. He restarted the engine and shifted the bus into gear. "Back to Vernon, to the depot. Sorry, folks."

Slowly, the bus inched backwards as the driver tried to regain his grip on the asphalt.

"What? No... no, you can't!" Two rows ahead of Jake and Anna, a man in a crumpled suit jumped from his seat. He stumbled to the front of the bus, awkwardly holding onto the seat backs as he navigated along the aisle and past the teenaged girl. "I have to get to Dallas _tonight_!"

The driver paused in his attempts to get the bus moving. He shot the passenger an irritated glare, before concentrating on his steering wheel again. "Did you see that cloud?" He was carefully maneuvering the bus backward and forward, trying to turn it on the narrow road without putting a wheel in a ditch. "No way in hell I'm drivin' _toward_ that."

"No, no, no," the passenger muttered. He shoved his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand, breathing hard, on the brink of hyperventilating.

The driver put on the brake and swiveled around fully in his seat, addressing the upset passenger. "Sir, to be honest, I don't think there's a Dallas left to go to. If we return to Vernon, we can―."

He broke off abruptly. The passenger was leaning forward, gesturing at the driver with something in his hand. Jake saw the driver's eyes widen and his own stomach lurched as he got a good look. The driver had switched on the interior lights against the growing darkness outside a few minutes earlier, and the yellow glow glinted off of the black metallic object the passenger held.

A gun! Jake clenched his jaw in irritation; dammit, as if the situation wasn't already bad enough, this guy had to make it worse.

Not everyone had the same angle of view of the driver as Jake did, and he reckoned none of the other passengers could see the weapon. Just as well. Coming on the heels of the mushroom cloud, the sight of a gun certainly would've set off a panic. Jake tried to decide whether and how to intervene before the situation got out of hand completely.

"Hang on, dude, let's—." A jeans-clad guy with long, graying hair laboriously dragged himself to his feet from three rows behind the driver and across the aisle.

The gunman whipped around at the sound of his voice, and the rest of what the man in jeans had been planning to say died on his lips. "Whoa...!" He spread his hands and sat back down slowly. Twin sharp intakes of breath told Jake the older couple behind them had also spotted the weapon now. The girl, fortunately, wasn't aware of what was going on. Jake suspected she was crying, from the faint sniffling noises she was making. He briefly wondered if she was in shock or in pain, before the man with the gun spoke again.

"We. Are. Going. To. Dallas!" Turning back to the driver, the passenger jabbed him with the weapon with every word. The gun shook in his grip and he looked at least as frightened as his victim.

Someone needed to take action, and do it fast. Though the bus was largely empty, if this idiot lost control and started shooting in the narrow space, someone was bound to get hit.

Jake dipped his head toward Anna, pitching his voice low. "Stay down." The whites of her eyes showing, she slid down as far as she could, leaving only the top of her head visible over the seats. Jake didn't know what kind of protection a bus seat would provide against bullets; it'd certainly be better than none.

Jake risked a glance behind. Everyone else sat frozen in their seats, but he met the elderly gentleman's gaze. Understanding bloomed between them. The man leaned over to whisper to his wife. Thinking he'd done all he could to make certain the other passengers were as safe as could be, Jake mentally braced himself and slowly straightened.

"Sir?"

As soon as Jake spoke, the armed man spun in his direction, training the gun on him. The trembling had gotten worse and the muzzle wavered uncertainly. Jake forced himself to keep moving forward slowly, trying to remain outwardly calm, while his insides twisted with fear. The guy's hand was shaking so badly that he risked the weapon going off by accident. And Jake would be right in the line of fire...

Dragging his eyes from the gun, he lifted his head to meet the passenger's gaze. Two or three paces away, he stopped moving. The gunman was in his forties, his suit was creased, and strands of thin hair had been combed across to try, unsuccessfully, to hide a balding pate. He far more resembled a door-to-door salesman than the type of person who'd hold a bus driver at gun point.

"Please, sir, put the gun down." Jake kept his voice deliberately low, as if speaking to a skittish horse. "We can figure this out if you put the gun down." He held the man's gaze, seeing the fear and panic in his eyes. "Please."

The man's breathing eased a little and the muzzle of the gun started dipping. Jake reached out with one hand, careful to make no sudden moves, intent on taking the gun from him.

The bus driver lacked Jake's patience: Jake was aware of him inching up behind the gunman. He tried to warn the driver off without alerting the passenger, but the driver was too focused on the gun.

"Don't...!" Jake cried out the warning, but too late. The driver jumped forward, making a grab for the gunman. The two of them wrestled together, fighting for possession of the gun, their struggle clumsy in the narrow space between the rows of seats.

With a loud _bang_, the gun went off. The noise shook the bus and left Jake's ears ringing. Somewhere behind Jake, a woman screamed, but he paid her no mind, his attention fixed on the two men in front of him.

For a heartbeat or two, everything congealed in time. Then, as the noise of the shot faded, the bus driver slowly slid from the gunman's embrace, landing gracelessly onto his back on the floor. Red bloomed on his chest, staining his blue uniform shirt an inch underneath his name tag..

"Oh...! No, nooo...!" the gunman moaned, goggling in horror at the man lying at his feet. No longer trying to be careful, Jake dashed forward and wrested the gun from the gunman's limp hands before he could recollect his wits and threaten anyone else. Quickly unloading it, Jake stuffed the weapon in his belt at his back and the clip in his pocket.

The passenger turned tear-filled eyes on him. "I... I d―didn't mean...," he stammered, pleading for Jake to understand.

Jake waved him aside impatiently, blindly shoving him between a pair of seats to give him room to kneel and check on the driver. Placing his fingertips against the man's throat, Jake closed his eyes, praying he'd feel a pulse.

He found none.

"He's dead." Jake opened his eyes and hauled himself to his feet.

"Dammit." The man in the denim jacket stood up again, peering down curiously at the driver's body. An inch-wide button on his denim lapel proclaimed him a Beatles fan. Below the button was a peace sign. "So, what next?" He gestured in the direction of the disarmed passenger, who was still slumped on the seat Jake had pushed him on to. "And what do we do with him?"

Jake shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know? All the fight had gone out of the man: his eyes stared unseeingly into the distance and his lips moving silently. Still, best not take any chances. "Tie him up, I guess," he suggested. "Take him to Vernon and get the sheriff." What else could they do?

"But... but what about Dallas?" the old lady asked. "Maybe he was right, maybe we should go on?"

"Did you see that damned cloud?" Beatles Fan demanded. He'd taken off his belt and was wrapping it around the gunman's unresisting wrists. "No damned way am I gonna stay on this bus if it goes to Dallas."

"Doesn't matter where we want to go." It was the booklady, though she'd put her book away. "We no longer have a driver." She deliberately avoided looking at the driver's crumpled body.

The double shock of seeing the mushroom cloud and a man getting killed in front of them was starting to wear off. Someone else protested he hadn't paid for a bus ticket so that he had to _walk_. Another reported to nobody in particular that her cell phone wasn't working and that she couldn't get through to the emergency services. Jake tuned out their clamor. He'd turned to check Anna was okay—she gave him a reassuring nod as she peered cautiously over the edge of the seat in front of her—but his attention had been caught by the teenage girl sitting several rows in front.

The girl was holding a palm to her forehead, and there were streaks of blood on her face, while her skin was almost white beneath the red. She must've slammed into the seat before her when the bus screeched to a halt and it had been pain and not fear that had her whimpering.

"Hey. You okay?" He knelt in the aisle beside her seat.

Shifting eyes that were too large for her face to look at him, her focus fuzzy with shock, she pulled free the earphones she was still wearing. His original estimate of her age had been a little off: up close, she looked more like fourteen or fifteen. She gave him a tremulous nod. "I hit my head."

"Can I see?"

A second hesitant nod. When she took her hand away, Jake gently brushed free the strands of hair that were stuck in the drying blood. The cut wasn't deep, but it was still oozing. Head wounds could be nasty like that.

He turned, searching for Anna. "Can you see if you can clean her up?"

"Sure." Anna got up, coming forward to join the girl.

Pushing to his feet and jerking his head toward the front of the bus, Jake added, "There should be a first aid kit, I'll get it for you."

He found the kit under the driver's seat and passed it to Anna. Further down the aisle, the rest of the bus passengers were persisting in a heated debate about what they should do. Thankfully, someone–Jake assumed the guy with the Beatles button–had moved the driver's body, drawing it into the gap between two rows of unoccupied seats. The puddle of blood remained in the middle of the aisle, already clotting dark and thick.

He surveyed the gaggle crowding near the back. "Folks, listen up." Nobody paid him the slightest attention. Jake frowned. Dad always made it seem so simple. He cleared his throat, and called out a second time, repeating himself until everyone was listening. "Okay. First, we need to figure out what to do. It's obvious a terrible thing has happened in Dallas or Fort Worth." Several people darted glances toward the horizon, now hidden by full darkness. With the light on inside, all that was visible was the reflection of their own frightened faces. Jake continued, "We have a dead bus driver, and people injured. I think we've gone ten or fifteen miles since Vernon." He paused. "I say we go back there. Find out what's happened, and get help."

Silence hung heavily in the bus. Several passengers exchanged looks with each other, as if waiting to see who'd be their spokesperson. The elderly gentleman took on the responsibility. "I agree, it's the best option." His wife knitted her brows sadly and he shrugged apologetically at her. "But who can drive the bus?"

"I can," Jake assured him. "I used to drive a truck."

Not wanting to give any of the passengers the chance to come up with further objections, he headed back to the front of the bus, casting a glance at Anna as he passed her by. She was gently cleaning the blood off the girl's face with a bottle of water and a tissue.

Jake hoisted himself into the driver's seat, forcing himself not to think of the man it had belonged to. The engine was still running, rumbling softly, and he put the bus into gear. Maneuvering carefully, he finished turning the bus on the highway and started back in the direction of Vernon. The touch of the big wheel underneath his hands was strangely familiar, although the bus handled more delicately than the heavy trucks he'd been running for Jennings & Rall.

Two or three miles later, someone slipped into the seat behind him. Not wanting to look away from the road for too long, he risked a quick peek across his shoulder. Anna was leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, as she kept her voice low. "The cut isn't too bad, but she's gonna need stitches, I think."

Her words had Jake confused, until he remembered she'd been taking care of the injured girl. "Okay, thanks."

Anna was quiet for half a mile. "Jake...?" She drew in a shuddering breath. "What're we gonna do?"

He gave her another brief glance, catching the uncertainty in her expression. "I don't know yet. We'll figure it out, okay?"

She bit her lip, but nodded, and Jake switched his attention back to driving.

He honestly had no idea what they should do. Despite Freddy's murder in San Diego, or the risk he and Anna would be running by talking to the authorities so soon after, his best bet was to make straight for the sheriff's office: let local law enforcement deal with the dead driver and the gunman and the busload of frightened passengers. Truth be told, he hadn't given much thought to anything beyond getting to Vernon. It all depended on what had caused that plume of smoke they'd seen: was it an accident? Or something else? And if it wasn't an accident, what did it mean? He hoped they'd find answers in town. Then they could decide what to do next.

To Jake's relief, the welcoming lights of the small town soon beckoned in the distance. Directing his focus to Anna sitting behind him, he asked, "Can you see if anyone can tell me where the sheriff's station is?"

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and got up to move down the aisle. She came back as they were passing the _Welcome to Vernon_ sign. "Sorry, no. Nobody's from here."

Jake grimaced wryly. Figured. The Main Street exit came up and he hit the blinker; the sheriff's office was bound to be in the middle of town. Sure enough, there was a sign at the bottom of the ramp pointing him to various public buildings. The sheriff's office was half a mile away.

It took nearly as long to travel those last seven blocks of Main Street as the dozen or so miles to reach the town limit. On the highway, traffic had been light, allowing Jake to maneuver the bus without hindering anyone. Main Street was crammed with cars―rusted farm pickups and mud-splattered SUVs―inching forward, bumper to bumper.

Jake pulled up along the sidewalk in front of the brick building that housed the sheriff's office. Cars honked at him angrily but he ignored them. Putting the bus in _neutral_ and cutting off the engine, he let out a sigh of relief.

Before he could get up from his seat, a deputy jogged over from the building. He pounded on the door and hollered, "Hey! You can't park―."

Studying the console, Jake located the button that opened the doors. Squeezing through the gap as soon as he could, the deputy finished in a lower volume, "―here. You―." He broke off as he caught sight of the dark stain on the floor where the driver had died. He inhaled sharply, taking in a whiff of air that, Jake knew, would be thick with the cloying scent of blood, even if he couldn't smell it himself any longer. The deputy clearly had the experience to recognize the smell at once, and he visibly tensed up. "What the...?"

His hand went to his gun on instinct, his focus switching from the drying puddle of blood to Jake, eyes narrowed. Jake sighed inwardly. Sure, blame him. Then again, he admitted silently, he _was_ in the driver's seat... He slowly raised his hands, palms out, to show the deputy he wasn't armed―the confiscated gun pressing uneasily against his back―and that he meant no harm.

"Better get the sheriff," he told the deputy. "He―," Jake jerked with his head in the direction of the former gunman, still stashed in a seat with his wrists bound together, "―shot the driver." On reflection, Jake didn't think the man would've caused them any further trouble; all the fight had gone out of him with the bus driver's death.

The deputy swiveled his head and regarded the bound passenger doubtfully. He kept fingering the butt of his gun, his suspicion not lessening any.

"It's true," Anna said from the seat behind Jake.

"We all saw it," the old man near the back added.

The next instant, pandemonium broke out, as if the old man's words had been a signal. Everyone was talking at once, each trying to convince the deputy that Jake was speaking the truth, offering to tell him what they'd seen and asking if he knew what had happened in Dallas.

The deputy blinked at them, but his shoulders relaxed and he eased his hand off the butt of his gun. Jake released the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. The deputy grabbed his radio and toggled it. "Sheriff, you best get down here. Greyhound bus, outside the station."

Before the sheriff had a chance to respond, the street lights illuminating Main Street flickered—and then went out entirely. The lamp light spilling out from nearby shop windows and from neon signs on store fronts winked out too, as did the glow in the windows of City Hall, across from the bus and the sheriff's office. All that was left as the streets were plunged in sudden darkness were the headlamps of the cars outside and the low reading lights inside the bus.

A collective gasp went through the cabin, the cackle of voices abruptly falling silent. Jake risked a peek at Anna, praying the blackout wouldn't cause anyone else to freak out.

The deputy must've thought the same thing. He held up a hand. "Everybody, please, stay calm," he urged. "Just the power going out. We'll have you sorted in a bit."

Jake couldn't tell if the passengers were simply too numbed from all they'd seen already, or if the deputy's calming words had made a difference. Either way, to his relief, everyone stayed in their seats. Ten seconds later, the lights came back on in the sheriff's station and in City Hall. The street lamps and store lights remained dark.

"Emergency generators," the deputy explained, without being asked. A half minute went by while they waited in silence until a portly man wearing a sheriff's uniform, his star of office pinned to his chest, came hurrying down the steps from City Hall, and crossed the street, winding a path through traffic until he reached the bus. A couple of deputies followed in his wake.

"Porter?" The sheriff climbed the steps into the bus. His name tag pronounced him to be Sheriff Kobler, and he looked harried and stressed. "What the heck's so urgent? Don't you understand I've got other—." The complaint died on the sheriff's lips as he, too, saw the blood. Glancing around, his jaw set into a hard line as he spotted the bound passenger and the slumped body of the driver. "What happened?"

For the second time, Jake explained the sequence of events, everyone else in the bus once more backing up his story. As he talked, cars kept rumbling by outside, headlights sweeping over the bus constantly, making shadows dance. "Also, there's a girl who needs medical attention." He pointed her out to Kobler. Anna had done a good job cleaning the worst of the blood off her face and covering the cut with a band-aid, but even in the gloom of the overhead lights, Jake could see the dressing was stained with freshly seeping blood.

In the street, shrill voices started yelling. Jake ducked his head so he could see out of the front window. A crowd had formed in front of a nearby store, a cluster of bodies swaying back and forth.

"We'll have someone look at the girl." Kobler heaved a sigh. He came across as both annoyed and weary as he also regarded the small crowd. "We'll also be wanting everyone's―."

His radio crackled to life, interrupting what he'd been about going to say. A voice sharp with suppressed panic rang over the airwaves. "Sheriff? Sheriff, are you there?"

Kobler closed his eyes briefly, a man barely holding on to his temper, and keyed his radio. "Yes, Dinovo, I'm here. Calm down, son."

Glass jingled as it broke, and several dark shapes darted out from inside the store carrying boxes. Jake only caught a glimpse before whoever they were disappeared into the dark night. Kobler cursed under his breath and addressed one of his deputies who'd boarded the bus behind him. "See to that, please." The deputy fired off a half-salute and left, while Kobler talked into his radio. "Dinovo, what is it?"

"Sheriff, you best come over to Mitchell's gas station. We got big trouble." Screaming and the sound of more glass breaking came over the radio, until the call abruptly cut off. The sudden silence was chilling. Kobler muttered a fresh expletive as he frowned at his radio. He raised his head and addressed the bus: "Folks, listen up. As you can tell, it's pretty hectic right now. But there's no reason to panic; I'm sure it'll all be cleared up soon. So, this is what we're gonna do: I'll have one of my deputies take down your names and home addresses. And in the morning―."

"Where are we gonna stay?" someone asked.

"And what about Dallas?" someone else's voice piped up.

Kobler shot Jake a despairing look. Jake rolled his shoulders in sympathy. Kobler's brows drew together in a new frown, before he raised both hands, palms out, the gesture designed to beg for silence. "Once we've gotten your information, we'll have you taken over to the Holiday Inn on Hillcrest. You can spend the night there." The guy dressed in denim opened his mouth but one look from Kobler and he snapped it shut without speaking. Kobler gave a curt nod, almost to himself. "In the morning, I'd like to take your statements about what happened on this bus. Hopefully, we'll also have a clearer picture of–." He hesitated briefly before he went on, "of the other events that happened tonight. And then we'll see what we can do about gettin' y'all home. Alright?" He let his gaze wander over the passengers, until one by one they acquiesced.

"Very well." Kobler waved at Porter, the deputy who had first stepped on to the bus. "Get Jim Davids. Have him take these folks to the hotel. And I want this bus impounded for evidence." He sucked in his cheeks. "And someone take this fool," Kobler pointed to the gunman with a jerk of his head, "to the county jail."

"Sure thing, Sheriff." Porter yanked the gunman to his feet, and half dragged, half carried him from the bus. Kobler followed.

"Um, Sheriff...?"

Kobler twisted around on the top step and peered up at Jake. "Ah yes, the girl. The hospital's on the way to the Holiday Inn. Jim'll have to stop there anyway to have the body removed to the morgue. Ask him to drop you off, too, get her seen by a doctor." He gave an apologetic shrug and a vague wave to the chaos outside. The deputy's presence had dispersed the looters but the street remained crowded. "Normally, I'd call for an ambulance, but..."

"I understand." Jake did understand, but he had a nasty suspicion the sheriff had just pawned off responsibility for a girl whose name he didn't even know onto Jake. "You'll also be wanting this." Jake pulled the gun out from the back of his jeans, holding the weapon gingerly between thumb and forefinger to make certain nobody would consider the gesture a threat, and offered it to the sheriff. "It's the, um, murder weapon." Kobler gave him a sharp look, before offering his thanks with a nod. Behind him, the remaining deputy produced a plastic bag. As Jake dropped the gun and ammo clip that he'd stashed in a pocket into it, the sheriff left the bus, already calling new orders into his radio.

o0o


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

While they waited for the promised local driver to arrive, the remaining deputy headed for the back of the bus, armed with a notepad and pen. Bouncing a knee, Jake watched him work his way forward, collecting the names and addresses of the passengers.

After several minutes, when the deputy was still only halfway down the bus, a man dressed in shirtsleeves climbed the steps into the bus. "Jim Davids," he introduced himself as he waved for Jake to vacate the driver's seat. "I'll take it from here, son. Hospital first, right?"

Sliding off the vinyl seat, Jake confirmed their route, all too happy to relinquish the wheel to Davids and head back to Anna. She'd slipped into the seat beside the injured girl. Jake planted himself in the row opposite.

The girl blinked curiously at him, and he offered her an encouraging grin. "You alright?" A bruise was starting to spread out from under the bandaid Anna had applied.

"This is Jake." Anna flapped a hand in his direction. "Jake, this is Robin."

"Hi." Robin's voice barely made it above a whisper.

The deputy with the notepad reached them and Robin gave him an address in Houston. Once the deputy finished writing her details on his pad, he lifted an eyebrow at Anna. To Jake's surprise, she also offered the deputy an address in Houston. He assumed it was her parents'. When it was his turn, he stated his name and then hesitated. What to tell the man? His San Diego location might send up red flags, and he hadn't been to Jericho in five years...

"Same as mine," Anna jumped in, before Jake could figure out what to say. He blinked at her, startled, and she gave him the slightest of shrugs in reply.

"Hm. That so?" The deputy peered from one to the other. Something in their behavior must've raised his suspicions. Anna looked right back at him, her expression innocent. "Alright." The deputy scratched a check mark on his notepad. "Don't forget, as the sheriff said, we'll be wanting to talk to you in the morning."

"Of course," Jake confirmed. Talking to the cops wasn't high on his list of favorite things to do on the best of days, but tomorrow was a full night away, and everything could be different then. And if not...? He'd cross that bridge if he had to.

Having gotten the information he wanted, and having delivered his warning, the deputy moved to the front of the bus to interview the guy in the denim and buttons. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jake leaned toward Anna, wanting to ask her why she'd told the deputy he was living with her. But Robin was peering past her shoulder, and Jake checked himself. He didn't want to get into it within the girl's hearing. Later, he promised himself, straightening up. Perhaps it was as simple as Anna also realizing that giving the authorities the address for his San Diego apartment wasn't a good idea. It was bound to be listed as the scene of a suspicious death.

"Jake? What do you think happened?" Robin asked shyly, distracting him from further speculation. She didn't have to explain what she meant: the terrifying cloud they'd seen rise up was still foremost on everyone's mind.

"Dunno." Jake raised his shoulders. "Could be anything. Could be―."

"Next stop: hospital, going on to the Holiday Inn," Davids' cheerful announcement cut him short.

With a jolt, the bus began moving. Looking out the window, Jake spotted the deputy who'd taken their names trotting up the steps into city hall.

It was less than two miles to the hospital, and the ten minutes it took to make it there passed in silence. Jake spent the time contemplating the mushroom cloud. He didn't want to instantly assume the worst, but no matter how he came at it, it looked very bad. No matter the cause―an attack or an accident―something had gone horribly wrong near Dallas.

The bus drew to a stop at the bottom of the hospital drive. Davids hit the control that opened the doors and pivoted in his seat, seeking out Jake's gaze across the rows of chairs. "Sorry, I'm gonna have to let you guys off here." He dipped his head toward the drive, drawing Jake's attention to the fact it was blocked by a clutter of cars parked at crazy angles, as if their drivers had simply abandoned them where they stood. A pair of orderlies pushing a gurney wove their way through the tangle, presumably to remove the body and take it to the hospital morgue. "Get a doctor to take a look at that cut, okay?" Davids gave Robin a wink and a smile, and she ducked her head shyly.

Jake got to his feet. "Will do." While Anna started helping Robin out of her seat, he went back to where he'd stashed his and Anna's bags on the overhead rack hours ago.

Robin hesitated at the top of the steps. "What about my suitcase?"

"Don't trouble yourself with that, sweetie. We'll take care of it," Davids promised. He swiveled in his seat, looking for confirmation from Jake as he collected his bag and Anna's carry-on.

Robin looked back at Jake, chewing her bottom lip. He waved reassuringly at her; he and Davids would see she got her suitcase.

"Poor thing," the old lady muttered, watching Robin and Anna descend from the bus and start up the drive toward the ER entrance. She turned and smiled up at Jake, her eyes moist. "You're an angel, looking out for her."

"Um..." Unsure what to say, Jake ducked his head and concentrated on hoisting his and Anna's bags onto his shoulder. His cheeks were burning. If only she knew what he'd done...

Hurrying to the front of the bus, the bags bumping against his ribs, he was met with a frown fromDavids. "That all?"

Jake shook his head. "No, that's just us. I believe Robin's bags are below."

"Ah, in the belly of the beast." Davids clambered out of the bus ahead of Jake and fumbled around in the darkness until he located the catch to the luggage compartment. Inside, an assortment of bags and suitcases were jumbled untidily in a corner, thrown there by the emergency stop. Jake grimaced at the sight. He had no idea what size or color Robin's suitcase was and they'd have to check the label of every piece of luggage.

Davids saw his expression. "You're going to the Inn when you're done here, right? I could leave her suitcase at reception. She can pick it up there later."

"Thanks, that'd be great." Jake gave Davids' a relieved smile, though he couldn't help wonder if the offer was a subtle way to ensure all the bus passengers would do as the sheriff had told them to and none of them would slip away into the night. Didn't matter; he had no plans to sneak away. Where could they go, anyway? He and Anna had no transport, and Vernon had looked pretty chaotic and unsettled. Not a place he wanted to run around in.

No, for tonight they were stuck, same as everyone else. They'd be okay, too, as long as they were gone before their names got entered into the system and Ravenwood was alerted to their whereabouts. That'd take a while: the sheriff's office had more pressing concerns than data processing. Besides, with the emergency generators running, they likely wouldn't have their network up anyway.

No, for a short while at least, he and Anna were as safe as could be.

Davids slammed the luggage compartment closed and, waving a final farewell to Jake, clambered back on board. Jake watched the bus's tail lights for a few seconds as it ambled on in the direction of the hotel. Then he turned and, tracking after the orderlies, who'd collected the dead driver's body while Jake and Davids had been busy with the luggage, slogged up the hospital drive.

Through the front doors, the waiting room carried the typical hospital smell. despite the potted plants that tried to create a homey atmosphere: a mixture of anti-septic and unwashed bodies. The place was packed, and the dozen or so plastic seats that had been placed around the walls were all occupied.

Anna was arguing with a harried-looking woman behind a counter, while Robin sat in one of the chairs, kicking her leg and looking lost. Jake made his way over to her, at the same time taking stock of the room. An old man in the corner rasped with a bad cough as he glanced in Jake's direction; next to him was a boy with his parents. The kid's cheeks were streaked with dried tears and from the way he cradled his arm, it looked like he'd broken his wrist. A young woman limped past Jake, helped by a nurse, aiming for a curtained-off treatment room. Other clumps of people were scattered around the room, talking among themselves in low and urgent voices. Jake reckoned the Dallas cloud was the main topic of conversation, and that everyone was scared and unsettled.

"Hey."

Robin slowly raised her head at Jake's approach. Her gaze zoomed in on his hands, registering he was only carrying his and Anna's bags, and a small line formed between her brows.

"Your suitcase'll be waiting at the hotel," Jake explained quickly, knowing what she must be thinking. "The driver said he's gonna leave it there for you."

Robin's frown stayed in place. She scrubbed at her face, wincing when she accidentally touched the makeshift bandage covering the cut. "I don't think I have enough money to pay for a hotel."

Jake dropped the bags and knelt in front of her, squeezing her knee comfortingly. "We'll work something out. Don't worry about it, alright?" He saw she was holding a cellphone in her other hand and he nodded at it. "Were you trying to call someone?"

"My mom." Her voice was small. "She was gonna pick me up at the bus depot. I don't want her to worry when the bus doesn't show up, but I got no signal."

"The system is probably overloaded: too many people trying to make calls." Jake smiled encouragingly. Better not to remind her she wasn't supposed to use her cellphone inside a hospital anyway; she was plenty rattled as it was. "I'm sure one of the company staff at the depot in Houston will tell your mom what happened and that the bus had to go back to Vernon."

"You think?" She shifted the phone to her other hand and rubbed her palm on her jeans.

"...all she needs is a couple stitches." Anna's voice cut through the general din in the waiting room. She sounded exasperated. Jake twisted around on his heels to look at the counter.

"Ma'am, are you a doctor?" The woman behind the counter was arching an eyebrow, giving Anna a quick once-over. Jake smiled to himself; he'd seen Anna stand up against drunk frat students, and he doubted the receptionist would find her easily cowed.

"Well, no, but―."

The double doors leading into the reception area slammed open, and a panicked voice hollered, "Help! We need a doctor! Bill got shot!"

Conversations cut off abruptly and everyone faced the door. A large man with a shock of blond hair was half-carrying, half-dragging a second man in, propping him up with his own body. Jake judged they were both in their late forties. It was hard to tell, as they were both covered in blood. Wild-eyed, the blond took in the waiting room. The wounded man, his arm slung across the blond's shoulder, was barely conscious, and from the amount of blood, Jake could tell he was badly injured.

The woman behind the counter sprang into action, abandoning Anna and hurrying over. From further down the hallway, other staff came running up, alerted by the shout for help. An orderly dragged an empty gurney toward the men. For all it was a small town medical center, they were efficient, Jake had to give them that. Within a minute, orderlies were rolling the gurney off, presumably to a treatment room, leaving a shocked silence behind. The receptionist was trying to calm the blond man, who kept mumbling, "I didn't mean to do it, I thought he was a burglar," over and over.

After several minutes, the blond man had gathered his composure enough that the receptionist could direct him to a chair, after ordering the father of the boy with the broken wrist to give it up. The blond man flopped into it like a rag doll, hands dangling between his knees and eyes turned toward the floor. With the crisis controlled for the moment, the receptionist returned to her station behind the counter. She blinked at Anna, as if she didn't recall what Anna was doing there. Then she shoved a clipboard into Anna's hands. Due to the hush that had fallen over the room at the arrival of the two men, Jake could hear every word clearly. "Please, ma'am, fill this out, and a doctor will look at your daughter as soon as one is available."

That could be a while; Jake doubted they had more than one or two doctors on ER duty at the best of times. With the waiting room full and a gunshot emergency brought in, it'd be hours before anyone was free to see to Robin.

Anna accepted the clipboard, the receptionist leaving her little choice. "She's not my daughter." She sounded startled at the suggestion she looked old enough to be the mother of a fifteen year old.

The receptionist pressed her lips together unhappily. "In that case, I need to see a medical release from one of the girl's parents, or a guardian." She snatched the clipboard back out of Anna's grip.

Jake got to his feet. "Hang in there, kiddo," he muttered in Robin's direction. "Be right back."

"I―I don't have one of those." Anna heaved a tired breath. She put her purse on the counter and leaned forward. "Please, I just met her on the bus to Houston. There was a... an accident, and Robin needs help."

The receptionist shook her head. "I'm sorry, Miss." She put the clipboard behind the counter. "Without a release, I can't―."

"Excuse me," Jake broke in. He held out his hand, giving a nod in the direction of the clipboard. "Can I have that?" The nurse hesitated and Jake lied, "I'm her father." Under normal circumstances, it would've stretched credibility―if perhaps not by much―but he'd caught his reflection in the window as he'd walked into the hospital, and he figured that thirty-six hours without proper sleep, twenty-four of which he'd spent crammed into various bus seats, had aged him enough the receptionist wouldn't question his statement. Belatedly, he prayed Anna hadn't told the woman anything that would put the lie to his words.

Giving him another wary once-over, the receptionist reluctantly passed him the clipboard. Jake let out a quiet breath. Anna was staring at him, and he put a hand on her arm. He didn't want her to accidentally betray him. "Thank you, I'll handle it. If you could sit with Robin for a short while longer...?" He gave a slight tilt of his head in Robin's direction, hoping that he sounded adequately distant to make the receptionist believe Anna was a stranger he hadn't met until today.

Anna shot the woman behind the counter a last, baleful glare, pivoted on her heel and marched over to join Robin without a word.

Jake offered the receptionist an apologetic half smile. "I asked her to keep an eye on Robin. I guess she took it more seriously than I expected." The woman hmm'ed under her breath, but she accepted his explanation.

Dipping a head at the clipboard in his hand, she told him, "Sorry, you'll have to find your own pen. We're making do, what with the power being out." She waved vaguely at the computer on her desk, its screen blank. Jake understood; without a clue how long it would take for the power to be restored, the emergency generator would be dedicated to powering vital services such as respirators and heart monitors.

Taking the clipboard with him, he sauntered back to Robin and Anna. During his absence, the seat next to Robin had been vacated, and Anna had taken it. Jake knelt on the floor in front of them, balancing the clipboard on his knees. He reached for his duffel, intent on digging for the pen he thought he'd packed.

"Why did you tell her that?" Anna asked.

Jake shrugged bashfully. "It was the quickest way to handle it."

What was important was to get Robin stitched up as soon as possible, so they could walk to the hotel and get some sleep. Anna was pale, her eyes bruised. Robin appeared ready to fall over from fatigue. And Jake knew he didn't look any better himself. Trying to fight the health care system's bureaucracy would've taken precious time, while a simple lie would quickly cut a path through it. He only hoped he'd be forgiven for telling the white lie, and that it wouldn't come back and bite him.

"If they find out―," Anna started in a hushed whisper.

"―we'll be long gone," Jake finished for her. Locating the pen, he clicked it on and reached for the clipboard.

He glanced up at Robin. "I'm gonna need your help with this." He tapped the pen against the admission form on the clipboard. Telling the nurse he was the girl's father was one thing; he wasn't gonna risk her life by lying about her medical history.

Robin had been shifting her focus from him to Anna and back as they talked. Realizing she hadn't overheard what he'd said to the receptionist, he explained how he'd lied to the hospital about being Robin's father.

She giggled. "You're a lot cuter than my real dad."

Anna uttered a soft noise that was half a laugh, and Jake offered Robin an embarrassed grin, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm. He dipped his head, concentrating on the questions on the form, and filling in the information Robin provided as he read them to her.

Once he was done, he took the clipboard back to the counter. The receptionist scanned the form. "No insurance?"

"I'll pay in cash." Trying to invent credible insurance policy numbers and company names had proved an impossible task for his already fatigued brain; rather than risking the hospital discovering he'd lied before they'd treated Robin, Jake had decided to use Freddy's money. He didn't like dipping into those funds, which were supposed to go to Anna's baby, but this was an emergency. Anna hadn't objected, either, when he'd suggested it; Jake reckoned she'd taken a liking to the girl, and being able to do something to help her made her feel less powerless.

God knows he could sympathize.

The receptionist made another dubious humming noise, but she scribbled a few words on the clipboard and put it into a rack filled with a half dozen similar boards. "We'll call your name when the doctor can see her."

o0o

As Jake had feared, several hours passed before a harried doctor could deal with Robin's injury. He did a handful of quick tests, waving a pen in front of her face and telling her to follow it without moving her head, and declared she didn't have a concussion. Less than five minutes after he came to see her, he'd moved on to the next patient, leaving it to a nurse to sew up Robin's cut with a couple stitches. In a way, it was all disappointingly anticlimactic, but Jake wasn't complaining. Just a few minutes later, Robin was released, sporting a fresh new bandage over her injury and clutching a bottle of tylenol to relieve any further pain.

The streets they trudged along toward the Holiday Inn had emptied during the long hours they'd been stuck at the hospital. If he hadn't been so dog tired, Jake would've enjoyed the quiet walk. But it was well past midnight by the time they plodded into the hotel reception. Several lit candles stood on the counter; a computer, currently blank-screened and useless, sat on the desk behind the counter. Near the door, a small red suitcase stood forlornly.

"Oh!" Robin let out a small squeal of pleasure at the sight, and Jake was glad to see Davids hadn't forgotten his promise to leave her suitcase in reception. One less thing to worry about.

The night clerk, a short man with small, squinty eyes, peered up at them suspiciously as they entered. He was lounging in an office chair, with his feet up on the counter, and abandoned the magazine he was absorbed in only reluctantly. "Help you?" he asked brusquely.

Jake moved up to the counter. "Three singles, please." He pretended not to notice the picture of a naked woman on the magazine's cover when the clerk folded it closed. The clerk raked him up and down with a narrow-eyed gaze, before shifting his attention to Anna and Robin next. For reasons Jake couldn't entirely pinpoint, he had to fight the urge to take a step sideways and block the guy's view. After a long minute, the clerk drawled, "Sorry, only got one room left. Twin beds."

Jake groaned inwardly. They couldn't seem to get a break today, could they? He half-turned toward Anna, not knowing what she'd want him to do.

She met his eye. "Do it. We'll manage."

"Alright, we'll take it." Jake turned back to the clerk.

With a grunt, the man pushed up from his chair and produced a small notepad from beneath the counter, one of those old-fashioned registry pads, with a carbon sheet to make a copy as you wrote. He located a pen, and slid both toward Jake, announcing, "That'll be three hundred dollars for the night."

"What?" Jake gaped at him.

The clerk smirked. "Including breakfast."

"That's―."

"A rip-off." Anna strode up, joining Jake at the counter. She was standing near enough he could feel her vibrating with suppressed fury. She sucked in a gulp of air. "The sheriff said we should―."

The clerk barked a harsh laugh. "Kobler? Go take it up with him, if you want. This is still a free country, and he doesn't run the place." He leaned forward and planted his palms on the counter. Jake caught an unpleasant whiff of a smoker's stale breath as he hissed, "No, lady, today, it's all about supply and demand. But hey," he pulled back, "you're welcome to go someplace else."

Jake clenched his jaw to keep from telling the clerk to go screw himself. Dallas had gone up in smoke tonight; hundreds of thousands people could be dead; and this prick was price gouging? But they had no choice: they were dead on their feet, without a car, and it was far too late to go find another place to stay.

"Not acceptin' plastic, either. I'm gonna want to see cash." The clerk waggled his eyebrows. "Unless the lady's willing to pay in kind..."

At first, Jake's tired brain refused to process what the clerk had said. Then outrage boiled up within him, and he moved to haul the clerk over the counter and pound some respect into the creep. Anna put a restraining hand on his arm, softly urging him, "Jake..."

Every muscle tense, hands curled into fists, Jake drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting to get his fury under control. Anna was right. While he wanted nothing more than to teach this jerk a lesson, getting into a scrap with the hotel clerk wasn't going to serve any other purpose than making him feel better.

Aware he had no choice, and bitterly aware the clerk knew it too, Jake forced himself to unclench his fingers. Through gritted teeth he forced out, "We'll pay cash."

At least the clerk had the sense to not gloat; Jake didn't think he could've been held responsible if the greedy thief had shown his triumph. Turning his back on the man, he unearthed Freddy's envelope from his jacket pocket, where he'd stashed it after he'd gotten it back from Anna so he could pay for Robin's treatment, and counted out three hundred dollar bills. He hesitated before putting the envelope away. He should give it back to Anna; the money was hers.

No. He stuffed the money back in his jacket. Better he hold on to it for a little longer for safekeeping. At least until they were out of sight of the thief behind the counter.

The clerk counted the bills slowly, before putting one in a desk drawer and folding the other two and stashing them in his pants pocket. He reached behind him, taking the last key hanging on the rack, and handed it over to Jake. "Lucky thing we still use them old-fashioned keys, huh?" He sketched a vague wave at the candles he'd lit around the office. "Or we'd've had to close up shop."

"Wouldn't that've been a shame." Anna mumbled the words so quietly Jake reckoned only he heard them. He swallowed down a humorless chuckle and accepted the key without further acknowledging the clerk. Passing the key on to Anna, he grabbed their luggage again, adding Robin's suitcase to his load, and followed Anna and Robin out.

"Can you believe that?" Anna burst out. The door had hardly fallen shut behind them. "Those rates are crazy!" Her voice shook with anger.

"Nothing we can do about it." Jake was dimly amused it was the price gouging upsetting her and not the creep's lascivious behavior. "Let's get some sleep, alright?" He was too tired to get all worked up.

Anna's face was a pale blur in the dark night. He saw the fight go out of her, her shoulders slumping forward. "It's just, jerks like that make me―aargh!" She made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, balled her fists and shuddered. Jake couldn't help but grin―he'd never seen her so mad―and she awarded him a wry smile at her own expense.

"Where's our room?" Robin yawned, falling asleep where she stood. Poor kid was so tired, she probably hadn't caught half of the argument with the hotel clerk. Jake was glad of it; she'd been worried enough how she'd be able to pay for a hotel room without discovering they were getting robbed to boot.

Anna held up the key, squinting at the numbers etched into the hard plastic label. With the power off, the lot had been plunged in darkness. Fortunately, the sky was clear: while the moon was only a thin sliver of silver, the stars provided enough illumination for her to make out the inscription. "Room twelve," she announced.

They located their room, on the ground floor, at the end of the square concrete building. Anna unlocked the door, and she and Robin entered ahead of Jake. The curtains were drawn and it was even darker inside. Anna and Robin were black shapes in the gloom.

"Jake?" Anna's voice floated back to him. "Did you happen to bring a flashlight?"

"No." He cursed softly under his breath; it had never occurred to him they'd need one when he was packing his bags in such a hurry to leave San Diego. But it was going to be very awkward for the three of them to move around if they couldn't see a hand in front of their face. He struggled to come up with a solution, but before he'd gotten his brain working, he heard the rustle of clothing, followed immediately by a greenish glow that cast a pale sheen across the room.

"Cell phone." Robin held the device up for him to see. In the sickly cast laid over her skin by the backlit screen, her expression was pleased, almost smug.

Jake grinned back. "Smart thinking." The amount of light the phone gave wasn't much, but in the pitch blackness of the hotel room, it was as if she'd switched on a spotlight. Glancing around, Jake saw the room was what you'd expect from a standard, generic hotel room: two beds, neatly made; a small writing desk; and a pair of uncomfortable-looking armchairs grouped with a tiny coffee table. A door opposite from him, barely visible, led to what he presumed was the bathroom.

Jake put the bags on the nearest bed. "I'll see if our friend at the desk can lend us a candle or two." Anna betrayed her opinion of Jake's chances with a dismissive snort, but Jake was determined to get his way in this. They could make do with two beds for the three of them, but they'd need better light than Robin's cell phone could provide.

As he'd expected, the clerk tried to charge him for the use of the candles. Jake refused to budge. Without Anna to hold him back, he leaned over the counter to snatch a handful of the man's shirt and he pulled him close until the clerk reluctantly scrabbled around for a couple of stubby candles and a box of matches.

Returning with the candles, Jake took renewed stock of the room. Coffee making facilities were neatly stacked together on the desk. The machine would be useless without electricity, but the two saucers would make for decent candle holders. Grabbing them, he struck a match and touched it to the first candle's wick. He waited for the wax to melt and then let a few drops fall onto a saucer to secure the candles' butt end. He lit the second candle from the first and did the same. The soft, warm light of the twin flames caused shadows to dance on the walls.

Jake straightened. "You should switch your phone off." A tiny red light was blinking on the bedside table, where Robin had put her phone. "You don't want to run the battery down."

Robin's hands twitched. "What if my mom tries to call?"

Jake had no answer for her. The landlines were down―he'd tried the pay phone in the hotel's lobby―and judging by the _Trying to Connect_ message blinking on the cellphone's display, so were the cell towers. With no idea when the electricity would be back on, or if the cell phone network would reactivate with it, he couldn't predict when Robin's mother's call might get through.

Robin blinked at him unhappily, tears filling her eyes as she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands plucking at the seams of her jeans. "Is―is my mom gonna be okay?"

Anna paused in searching through her overnight bag. "Your mom's in Houston, right?"

"Uh-huh."Robin gave a sniveling nod. "My parents got divorced last year. I was staying with my dad, but he had to go on a trip, so I'm going back home to stay with my mom."

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Anna clutched a clean shirt to her chest. "The explosion we saw happened near Dallas. Right, Jake?" She signaled for him to pass her one of the candles.

Jake wasn't as certain that Houston was fine as Anna was. They had no real clue what had happened, and until they did, anything was possible. But Robin was peering at him hopefully, her eyes large and shining. Uncertainty be damned, Jake wasn't planning to make it worse for her with useless speculation. "Yes, that was Dallas." He picked up one of the saucers, shielding the candle's flame with his hand.

"Was..." Robin frowned. "Was that a nuclear bomb? Those look like that, don't they? In the movies, and stuff..." Her voice trailed off.

"Any really big explosion kinda looks like that, I think." Jake carried the candle to the bathroom. He paused on the threshold. "Listen, we don't know what happened, and guessing isn't gonna make us any wiser. In the morning, the sheriff'll have further information. And then we can take it from there."

o0o

Jake woke with a start, sore and aching. The room was dim, subdued daylight filtering through the curtains. He tried to gauge the time; he couldn't have had more than a few hours of sleep. Wriggling stiffly, he unfurled himself from the armchair he'd slept in. His spine popped as he sat up, and he grimaced.

Anna had suggested Robin take one bed and he share the second one with her. Jake had declined the offer. The beds were narrow twins and Freddy had died on his floor less than forty-eight hours ago; it hadn't seemed right. Anna had rolled her eyes at him, telling him without words he was being silly. But she hadn't pressed the issue. Stretching his creaking muscles, he regretted his decision.

Tugging the curtains open a little, letting weak sunlight flood the room, he discovered Anna's bed was rumpled, but empty. Where could she have gone?

A knock and a thump, and then the sound of retching drifted from the bathroom. Jake padded over on socked feet and rapped on the door. "Anna? You okay?"

"I'm fine." Her voice was a touch strangled.

"You sure?" The sounds he'd heard suggested anything but _fine_. "Can I get you anything?"

"Yes. No. Just go away and leave me alone." The flushing of the toilet―thank God they had running water, even if it was cold―nearly drowned out the last word.

Jake hovered uncertainly at the bathroom door, debating whether to go in, until it occurred to him what was likely wrong. It had to be morning sickness. A flush of relief, mixed with helplessness, washed over him: it wasn't something he could help her with, but at least she wasn't really sick, either.

"Is Anna okay?" Robin's sleepy question made him turn away from the bathroom. She was blinking blearily at him, rubbing at her eyes.

"She'll be fine. Sorry I woke you." The girl had fallen asleep the instant her head touched the pillow. Not surprising after all she'd been through.

"s Kay." Yawning, Robin twisted around and snatched her cell phone from the night stand to check the display. Her face fell. "Still no service."

"Power's still out, too." Jake flicked the light switch up and down a few times. The display on the alarm clock on the nightstand was also dead. "How's your head?"

Robin fingered the bandage on her scalp. "Better, I think. It doesn't hurt so bad." Her stomach took that moment to growl so loudly that Jake could hear it in the quiet room, and she grinned wryly, cheeks coloring. "I'm hungry."

"So I hear." He grinned back at her. They'd all gone to bed hungry. The vending machines couldn't operate without electricity, so they'd made do with the chocolate bars and tiny bags of peanuts they'd discovered in the small fridge under the desk. You were supposed to pay for them separately, but for three hundred bucks a night, Jake figured the hotel could throw in the snacks for free. "Wanna go see if we can find something to eat?"

"Okay." She made to fling off the covers. "Um...?" As she glanced shyly at Jake, her blush deepened.

"Gimme a second, and I'll wait outside." Jake searched around for his boots, locating them under the desk, and stuffed his feet into them. Just as he was ready to leave and let Robin get dressed, the bathroom door opened and Anna walked out, wearing in an oversized T-shirt that reached to mid-thigh. Her face was pale, bruises visible under her eyes. "Are you―?" Jake began.

She offered him a glare and he snapped his mouth shut.

"Jake and I are going to look for breakfast," Robin announced, blithely unaware. "You coming?"

At the mention of breakfast, Anna paled further, and for a second Jake thought she might faint. He tensed, ready to spring to catch her.

"I think I'll skip it, thanks." Anna swallowed, hard.

What the heck _was_ the cure for morning sickness? Would it be different from other types of nausea? His mom had always fed him Coke and salty crackers when he was sick. "You want us to bring you anything?" Not that he had any idea if they'd find anything to eat. On the other hand, the power had been out for less than twelve hours. There was no reason to think the motel couldn't serve some kind of food to its guests.

Anna started shaking her head. Thinking better of it, she allowed, "Maybe crackers. Or toast."

Glad he could do something, Jake promised, "We'll find something." Anna crawled back into bed, and Jake quickly finished tying off his bootlaces and went outside to give Robin a chance to put on her clothes.

She came out five minutes later. Letting the murmur of many voices guide them, the two of them soon came across the small room set aside for breakfast. In spite of the sun streaming in through the windows, it was still dim inside with the lamps off. A plump woman bustled round overseeing the buffet that had been set up against one wall of the room. As soon as she spied Jake and Robin, she waddled up, greeting them with a warm smile that made her eyes crinkle. Her name tag identified her as Doris Cramer.

She took in the bandage plastered to Robin's temple with a small frown. "Sweetie, are you alright?" Without bothering to wait for a reply, she went on, "Sorry to say we have no coffee." She gestured in the direction of the table where the food was set out. "Or fresh rolls. Or waffles or pancakes or bacon either." For a heartbeat, her face scrunched up in dismay at having to tell them this, before her smile reappeared. "We do have juice and crackers and fruit, and I kept the store room locked overnight, so the milk for the cereal is still cool." She gestured them toward the buffet table. "Eat, eat as much as you can. Feel free to pack yourselves a lunch too. It'll all be spoiled tomorrow anyway, if the electric doesn't get fixed soon."

Jake couldn't help return her smile. The woman's friendly demeanor was such a far cry from the sullen greed of the night clerk, it was rather disorienting, as if he'd woken up in a different world. Was she aware of the kind of high room prices the clerk had charged her guests?

Taking another look at the guests milling around by the buffet, selecting bowls and carrying glasses filled with beverages, Jake recognized several people from the bus. "Has there been any news about what happened?"

Doris' smile faltered. "Haven't heard a peep. The phones aren't working, and without the electric―." She busied herself straightening a pile of paper napkins. "Was a horrible sight, wasn't it? That cloud? Terrible, terrible thing." She shuddered. "They say the governor's declared an emergency. And my cousin said her neighbor's boy spotted tanks going south from Quanah early this morning." She wrung her hands. "National guard, he said."

At the far end of the buffet, one of the guests dropped a glass and it shattered on the tile floor with a loud clatter. The room fell into a hushed silence, everyone staring in the direction of the noise. Doris swiveled on her heel toward the commotion.

"Never you mind that," she comforted the guest who'd dropped the glass and was gawking at the puddle of juice on the floor in consternation. "Just a little accident. No harm done." She redirected her attention briefly to Jake and Robin. "Excuse me, I've to go..." She waved toward the mess. "I'm by myself this morning, you see. None of the staff have showed up for work." She sighed and gave another shoulder roll. "I guess they all have important things to do at home, eh?"

Not giving Jake a chance to respond, she bustled off to get a mop and went to clean up the spilled juice and sharp glass shards. Robin watched her go. "Wow..." She giggled behind her hand.

Jake grinned. Though she wasn't half as skinny, Doris reminded him of Gracie Leigh, who could also gossip a mile a minute while she packed up your groceries... A pang of unexpected homesickness stabbed him. He hadn't felt that in a good while. And why would he think of Gracie all of a sudden?

He gestured toward the buffet table, and suggested to Robin, "Let's get something to eat." Spying a basket filled with cellophane-wrapped crackers, he added, "And take some of those for Anna."

Robin's amusement over their cheerful hostess faded and a wrinkle formed between her brows. "Is Anna sick? She's gonna be okay, right?"

"I think so." Jake gathered a handful of the crackers and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. He added a couple of single serving jam containers and peered around to see if he could spot any bottled juice or water. "She's not sick, she's pregnant."

"Oh..." Robin poured cereal into a bowl and added milk. She stirred it in silence. "Is she your wife?"

"What?" At first, Jake didn't understand what she was talking about. "No. No, Anna's―." He paused. Freddy's fiancée. _Was_ Freddy's fiancée. Freddy, who'd gotten killed because Jake had convinced him to stand up to Ravenwood. "It's a long story." He suddenly wasn't hungry any longer.

Robin's face made it clear she wanted to ask more questions but something in Jake's gaze warned her Jake didn't want to talk about it and she went to search for a spoon for her cereal without another word.

While Robin discovered the silverware and found a place at one of the tables to sit, Jake stayed to take stock of the rest of the food on display and attempted to decide what he wanted. Scratching the stubble on his chin―he hadn't had time to shave yet―he suppressed a yawn: he'd give his right arm for a cup of coffee. Finally, he settled on a pre-packaged carton of yoghurt―strawberry, the lid said―and a piece of fresh fruit, and poured a glass of orange juice.

Juggling his haul, he joined Robin at the table. The elderly couple from the bus was sitting nearby. The Tuckers, they'd told the deputy their name was. They'd been traveling to Dallas from Albuquerque to visit their daughter and grandchildren. The gray-haired Beatles fan was standing at their table, talking to them. What was his name again? Jake raked his brain. Harper, right. This morning, Harper had ditched the jacket; he was dressed in a white T-shirt, frayed at the collar. He looked unconcerned, a sharp contrast to the older couple, who were frazzled, as if they hadn't had any sleep.

Mr Tucker patted his wife's hand gently. "Honey, Linda and the boys are fine." By his tone, he was trying to convince himself as much as his wife.

"I'm gonna go by the bus station," Harper announced, taking a large bite of one of the frosted cinnamon rolls from the buffet. Speaking around a mouthful of roll he added, "I reckon Greyhound owes me a ride to Houston."

Mr. Tucker dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "We were going to Dallas. I don't know, maybe we'd be better off going home again."

"What if Linda needs us?" his wife asked. She moved her hands into her lap, folding them together tightly.

He touched her arm. "Honey, if we were to go to Dallas, we'd only get in the way of any relief efforts."

"We could stay here?" she suggested. "At least for a day or two? And once the phones are working again, we can call Linda and she can come pick us up?"

Harper's brows drew together in skepticism. Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut and didn't trample on Mrs Tucker's hopes that her daughter and grandchildren were all right. Spying Jake watching them, he waved him to come over. "Hey, you. Jake... It is Jake, right? We're discussin' our options. What're you and that pretty lady of yours plannin' to do?"

Mrs Tucker's head swiveled on her thin neck as she looked around the room. "I don't see her... Hello, sweetie." She bestowed a tremulous smile on Robin.

"Anna's not feeling so great this morning." Jake put the food he'd collected on Robin's table. "And we haven't talked about what we should do yet." He didn't expect it would require a lot of discussion: he was pretty certain that Anna would insist on going on to Houston. Her parents were there, and she had nowhere else to go. As for his own plans, nothing had changed. He'd deliver her safely to her family and then head north to Kansas. Confirm that everyone back there was all right. "Go on, I guess."

"What do you think we should do?" Mrs Tucker wanted to know from him. "Stay put? Go home to Albuquerque?" She blinked up at him expectantly, as if trusting him to have all the answers.

"Um..." Jake stuttered. "Ma'am, I honestly couldn't tell you." Until they got further information about what had happened, it was impossible to make decisions. "I'd suggest we make for the sheriff's office and learn what they can tell us before deciding."

Her husband nodded sagely, glad to have someone give him direction. "Yes, yes. The sheriff said he'd see about getting us on our way, didn't he? Honey, that's what we should do." He helped his wife to her feet and together, they shuffled from the room, her hand resting on his forearm for support.

Harper huffed as he watched them leave, and muttered, softly enough that the Tuckers wouldn't hear him, "Good luck with gettin' that damned sheriff to get you home." He tilted his head to squint up at Jake, who was a couple inches taller. "Best be goin', too. See you around?"

"Sure." Harper had also been going to Houston, and a part of Jake said they should hook up. Safety in numbers and all that. But there was something about the man that set off his inner alarm bell. He didn't know what―surely it wasn't the Beatles button―so he simply kept his mouth shut as Harper, snatching another cinnamon roll from the buffet, strode out.

o0o


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The sun was high by the time Anna felt better. She'd nibbled on a few of the crackers Jake had brought her, and they'd settled her stomach enough that she dared to get up and get dressed. After that, they'd packed up quickly and agreed to go by the bus station first to see if any services to Houston were running.

Jake scanned their surroundings as they ambled along the road toward town. In contrast to the snarls of the previous night, it was largely devoid of traffic and the handful of cars that passed them were driving quickly. Everything looked so normal, Jake could almost believe nothing terrible had happened. Overhead, the sky was a clear, pale blue, and it was getting warm, though a storm was building on the horizon far to the north. Watching the clouds rising in the distance and drifting slowly east, Jake hoped the bad weather would stay where it was.

_At least the radiation will be blown in the other direction..._ He didn't want to think about the folks who lived on the far side of Dallas, in eastern Texas and Louisiana and southern Arkansas.

"Jake?"

Jake's long legs had carried him ahead of the two girls and he slowed his pace to allow them to catch up. He used the pause to shuck his jacket and tie it around his waist.

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you this morning." Anna fell into step beside him.

"That's alright." He shrugged off her apology. She'd been upset and sick, and as far as confusing female tantrums went, he'd seen Emily throw far worse, back in the day. Anna's flare of temper had barely registered on the scales.

Anna shook her head. "No, it's not. You're here because you wanted to help me, so it's not fair for me to take my frustration out on you." She worried her lip with her teeth. "I've been sick a few times," she confessed, "but nothing so bad as this morning..." He caught the hidden doubt in her voice.

"We could go by the hospital," he offered. "Have them check you out." He'd suggested it the previous night while they were waiting for Robin to be taken care of. Anna had refused, saying she was feeling okay, and that she'd see a doctor once she got to Houston.

"And deal with Nurse Dragon?" Anna snorted a laugh. "No, thank you."

Jake chuckled. "Good point."

"It's probably the stress." It was half a statement, half a plea for reassurance.

"Probably." He was happy to comfort her, though he'd have preferred a real doctor to confirm the diagnosis.

"Are you having a boy or a girl?" Robin's suitcase's wheels rattled noisily on the pavement as she yanked it with her.

"Don't know yet." Anna's anxious expression turned into a soft smile. "It's too early to tell."

"Oh." Robin fell silent for the next dozen paces. "I think a girl would be fun, don't you? Or a boy?" Her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

Jake laughed. "I think those are all the options there are."

Robin stuck her tongue out. "What do _you_ want to have: girl or boy?"

Jake's good cheer evaporated. "That's―." He snuck a peek at Anna. She'd gone pale under her tan, her fingers pressing dents in the material of her shoulder bag. He lowered his voice. "I'm not the father."

"The father's dead." Anna hissed the words, taking several large strides until she'd pulled ahead of them.

Color rose in Robin's cheeks. "Sorry, I didn't mean to―."

"Not your fault." Jake wiped an arm over his face, adjusting his duffel bag. "You couldn't have known." Wouldn't hurt if she wasn't quite as blatantly inquisitive, though, he thought unkindly, noting how Anna's distress showed in every line of her body. He sighed. "Let's keep going." It wasn't fair to blame Robin's curious nature: if he'd explained to her the first time she'd asked about him and Anna, all this could've been avoided.

Luckily, the bus depot was close by to distract Anna from her misery. But as they rounded the corner, they quickly discovered they could forget about finding any help there. The tarmac was empty of vehicles, with only oil stains providing silent mementos to the countless buses that had passed through. The ticket office, across from the depot, had its blinds drawn. A handwritten note in the window proclaimed _No Service Till Further Notice_.

Jake combed his fingers through his hair, blowing out a long breath.

"So much for that plan," Anna huffed, voicing what Jake was thinking. She sounded more disappointed than upset.

"How am I going to get to my mom now?" Robin plopped down on her suitcase, her shoulders slumped forward.

"Hey." Setting his duffel on the ground, Jake crouched in front of her and reached for her hands. She lifted her head, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "We'll figure it out, okay? We'll get to Houston, the three of us. One way or another." As he heard himself speak, he winced inwardly. Damn him and his big mouth. What was he thinking? He couldn't be responsible for a teenager as well as Anna. Hadn't the last six months proved he could barely take care of himself?

"Promise?" Robin's face lit up with a tremulous smile.

"Promise." Jake squashed his misgivings. No way would he abandon her now. He thought fast. Maybe they could rent a car. He made a note to check for rental places.

Anna briefly rested her hand on his shoulder. Automatically he reached up to cover it with his own, a silent reassurance. He was rewarded with a slight squeeze before she pulled her hand away.

Pushing to his feet, he picked up his duffel and offered to take Anna's bag from her. If they had to walk further into town, he didn't want her to have to lug it any longer. She shook her head. "I'm fine."

Jake let the matter go. "Let's go see if the sheriff has any further information." He wasn't keen on showing Kobler his face again, but they hadn't many options left and the sheriff's office was the obvious place for further intel on what had happened or was still happening.

o0o

Jake's assumption Kobler might be able to tell them what was going on proved far from original. The sheriff's station was jampacked, everyone clamoring to be heard at once. The dozens of voices shouting all at the same time created an ear-splitting racket in the enclosed space, and a wash of hot, stuffy air greeted them soon as they opened the door, evidence of a lot of people crammed in a small area without air-conditioning.

Anna froze on the threshold of the building. "I can't go in there...," she whispered. She swallowed visibly, and Jake was afraid she'd be sick again. Robin, peering past him, looked as horrified as Anna at the sight of the throng pressing forward.

He withdrew from the door, letting it fall shut, and surveyed the street they were on. Several nearby stores had their windows boarded up with sheets of plywood, a reminder of the looting of last night. Someone had taken the time to clean up the worst of the broken glass from the sidewalk–though they hadn't been too fastidious and tiny shards sparkled in the sunlight.

Spying a bench under a tree on the sidewalk opposite the sheriff's station, in front of city hall, he pointed it out to Anna. "Why don't you two wait there, while I see what they can tell me?"

"Thanks." Anna clutched her purse tighter under her elbow. "Want me to take that?" She meant the duffel hanging from his shoulder. "You can't take that in _there_."

With a wry huff of agreement, Jake started to pass her the bag. He checked himself, remembering her condition. It wouldn't do to let her lug his heavy pack as well as her own bags. "No, that's―Let's get over to the bench."

They crossed the street and Jake waited for Anna and Robin to settle on the bench before dropping his duffel at their feet. "I'll be right back."

He crossed back and threw himself into the melee, ready to claw a path through the crowd. Opposite the entrance, two red-faced, sweating deputies were standing behind a counter vainly trying to bring order to the madness. "Please, folks. One at the time. We'll get to y'all if you just give us a minute." From the untidy pile of forms on the counter in front of them, Jake surmised they had been trying to take reports. Nobody was paying much attention to the deputies' request. Everyone was hollering their complaints, upping the volume as they tried to make themselves heard over the din.

"... haven't we heard from the..."

"People are breaking..."

"...the sheriff or the mayor..."

"Hey, watch it, man!" The last was addressed to Jake, who'd bumped into a fat man's back. He muttered an apology, hoping that would settle the matter, but didn't stop in his attempts to move forward.

"I said―!" The man Jake had collided with grabbed for his sleeve. Jake's stomach tightened. Looked as if, despite being in a police station, an apology wasn't gonna satisfy the guy in his wound-up state. As Jake was gearing up to pull his arm free, he heard his name called.

"Mr Green?"

Searching for the source, Jake winced: Kobler had popped up in a doorway, presumably leading to his private office, and was beckoning him over. Fortunately, the sheriff's interest in Jake made the other man back down and he let go of Jake with a final dark look. Even so it took Jake a handful of minutes to worm his way through the mass of bodies, doing his best to avoid treading on any more toes, before he reached Kobler. The sheriff curtly told him to get inside. As Kobler shut the door behind Jake, the noise cut down to a muffled murmur.

Glancing around, Jake discovered his initial guess had been right: this was Kobler's office. Framed commendations hung on the wall behind a desk covered in heaps of paper. A languishing house plant squatted in a pot in the window. It showed every sign it hadn't been watered in too long.

"Please, sit." Kobler gestured Jake toward a hard-backed chair in front of the desk, while he trudged around and planted himself in the leather seat behind it. As he sat down, Jake snatched a glimpse of the computer screen standing on a corner of Kobler's desk. It was blinking a steady "waiting to connect to network" message.

Kobler glared at the screen and frowned before reaching over to switch it off. "Damned machines," he muttered to himself, before he raised his head and met Jake's gaze. "Might's well conserve the power."

Jake waved in the direction of the computer. "No luck yet?" The screen message suggested the law enforcement authorities hadn't yet gotten their network up and running again. Which, if that were true, would mean Jake's and Anna's names wouldn't yet have been entered into the system. No red flags raised to make Ravenwood chase him and Anna to Vernon or give the San Diego police reason to call Kobler and have Jake detained for questioning.

Which left him wondering what it was the sheriff did want from him.

Kobler grunted a confirmation to Jake's question. "We're deaf, dumb and blind," he groused, leaning forward to pull a sheet of paper from the pile closest to him and pick a pen from the holder. "Anyway, Mr Green..."

Jake frowned; he'd hoped the sheriff could tell him something. "You haven't heard anything about what's happened?" he interrupted.

Kobler peered up from studying the page in front of him. "Rumors and gossip, that's all. We got refugees straggling in from Fort Worth. From what they tell me―." He broke off and averted his gaze. "Terrible, terrible things."

"Was it an accident?"

Kobler puffed out his cheeks. "We don't know..." For a second time, he paused for a beat. "There's word: clouds were seen over other cities too."

Jake angled forward on his chair. His mouth had gone dry. "Other cities?"

The sheriff toyed with his pen, tapping it lightly against the surface of his desk. "All hearsay, mind. But they say Phoenix... Lawrence in Kansas... Denver... Chicago... I don't really know."

"My god..." Dizziness washed over Jake. He slumped back in his chair, taking a deep breath. "Lawrence? Why would anyone attack Lawrence?"

"Beats me." Kobler put the pen down and stapled his hands. "You have family there?"

Jake closed his eyes, shaking his head. Not in Lawrence, thank God. But if what Kobler was saying was true, Jericho was smack in the middle between Lawrence and Denver. Bile rose in his throat. If the prevailing winds―. He stopped the thought short, swallowing hard; nothing he could do about it. He could only pray that Jericho was safe, and that his father was on top of the situation.

"Listen, Mr Green, none of this has been confirmed, so you best not concern yourself with it." Kobler rubbed his neck. "I shouldn't have told you any of this in the first place, it's―."

"Sheriff, you need to find out what's going on," Jake blurted out. He scooted forward until he could put his palms on the edge of the sheriff's desk. The wood was cool under his touch. He didn't care about this town, which he hoped to leave soon, but there was a bigger picture. "If this country's under attack..."

"Now, wait a minute." Kobler sat up straight, stiffly. "Nobody said―."

"Multiple large explosions in different cities at the same time?" Jake laughed bitterly. He'd hoped that Dallas was an accident. An awful accident, but an accident all the same. "Would be one _hell_ of a coincidence, don't you think?"

To that, Kobler clearly had no answer, and he gave a dubious nod at Jake's repeated suggestion he should send out his deputies to make contact with neighboring towns. "I'll think about it," he conceded. "For the time being, the National Guard's handling it; they've been called down from Wellington to go to Dallas." At Jake's unspoken question he added, "They've been moving through town since sunrise." He shook his head in answer to Jake's next unvoiced question. "And no, they don't know anything beyond what I just told you."

Jake inclined his own head in understanding, staring at a scratch in the wood of the desk without seeing it. The National Guard would be better informed than the average citizen, but if those rumors Kobler had heard were true, their intel would be limited, same as everyone else's. And if the guy in charge was smart, he wouldn't go around spreading unconfirmed gossip any further than it already had. The panic from that could be worse than if the truth came out.

Kobler reached for his pen again. "Now, this matter of the dead bus driver..."

o0o

Gladly leaving the mayhem of the sheriff's office some thirty minutes later, Jake shut the door behind him. He had to wait at the curb as a convoy of National Guard trucks rumbled by, heading east toward the highway. They were filled with uniformed men, their faces grim and worried. Jake didn't envy those men at all. He'd witnessed the results of smaller bombs exploding in populated areas; he could only imagine the horror a nuclear blast would create.

As soon as the last truck had rolled by, Jake crossed the street through the dust slowly settling in the convoy's wake and made for the bench where he'd left Anna and Robin.

"Jake!" Robin saw him first and she jumped to her feet, smiling widely. "Mr Harper was here. He says he's going to Houston today, and he's offered us a ride. I'll be with my mom tonight."

Jake couldn't help but return her obvious delight with a grin of his own, at the same time raising an eyebrow in Anna's direction for clarification.

"He said he was gonna get a car," Anna explained, "and he said he can take us with him." She blew a strand of loose hair from her face. "He told us to wait for him here. He'll come pick us up in a bit."

Jake surveyed the street, quiet in the wake of the convoy. He'd be interested to learn how Harper had gotten hold of a car. When Jake had asked where they might rent one, Sheriff Kobler had said the nearest rental station was in Wichita Falls. But hitching a ride would be the perfect solution to their problem. And maybe Harper had found a private individual willing to rent him their car, or perhaps he had friends in Vernon that were willing to lend them theirs. In any case, the sooner Jake could leave Anna in the care of her parents, the sooner he could go to Jericho.

Robin skipped to the curb, waving excitedly. "There he is."

A cream station wagon with wood trim rolled to a stop in front of them. Harper tumbled out from behind the wheel, gesturing ostentatiously at the car and grinning at Robin and Anna. "Ladies. Your carriage awaits."

Robin giggled. She scurried back to the bench to get her suitcase. While Harper waited for them, he darted a furtive glance in the direction of the sheriff's office. Jake didn't think Robin or Anna caught it, but his own brow furrowed, his earlier pleasure at so easily finding a solution fading. Something wasn't right.

Jake inspected the car more carefully. The station wagon was an ancient model, its cream paint sprinkled with rust spots and small dents and scratches. It had clearly seen better days. Stooping, Jake peered through the window: a silver ornament in the shape of a heart dangled from the mirror on a small strap, the word _Grandma_ engraved in its center. He straightened. "Where'd you get the car?"

Harper shrugged one-shouldered, giving a vague wave at the rest of the town. He didn't say anything.

Jake's eyes narrowed further, his misgivings growing. Darting a quick look of his own in the direction of the sheriff's office, where a steady stream of people were going in and out, keeping Kobler and his deputies busy, he stepped closer to Harper and, keeping his voice low, asked, "Did you steal it?"

"Let's say I... borrowed it." Harper looked steadily back at Jake. "Look at the damn thing: it was rusting to pieces in some old crone's driveway. Hell, the keys were under the visor." Dismissing Jake, he rounded the station wagon to open the rear hatch for Robin's suitcase, releasing a waft of air that smelled faintly of pine trees. His own faded green duffel lay on an old blanket in the otherwise empty space."Besides, this is an emergency." He slapped the car's roof. "Gimme your bags, girl, and hop on in."

Jake planted himself in front of Robin, preventing her with one arm from passing her small suitcase to Harper. "Robin, hold up a sec."

"What?" Robin let out a startled squeak as she bumped into his arm. Harper quirked an eyebrow at Jake, mouth twitching wryly.

"Let me get this straight: you're offering us a ride in a stolen car?" Jake could hardly believe the man's nerve, parking right across from the sheriff's station. Kobler might not be able to put out an APB on the car as soon as it was reported stolen, but there was no predicting how long it would take to get the power restored and give him access to the law enforcement's network again. And it wouldn't require a genius to figure out in which direction to look for the thieves, considering they'd all been stranded on a bus heading south.

No, Jake decided, he and Anna were in enough trouble as it was. The last thing he wanted was to get dragged back inside Kobler's office to be detained for larceny. And they certainly didn't need the local law as well as Ravenwood on their tail.

Anna must've read his thoughts on his face. Her expression sobered. Taking his cue from that, Jake firmly told Harper, "Thanks, but no thanks. We're not that desperate."

"I want to go." Robin clamped her fingers over Jake's arm, pushing at him. "Jake, I want to go home." There were tears in her voice.

"I know you do." Jake resisted her attempts to get past him. He dipped his head, seeking her gaze. "But this? This isn't right. We'll find another way. I promise."

Harper barked a sharp laugh. "What other way? Think about it, dude. Dallas is gone. There are no buses. It's everyone for their goddamn themselves, and I, for one, don't wanna be stuck in this hellhole of a town a minute longer than I have to. C'mon, kiddo, if you wanna come, let's get movin'."

"Jake, he's right." Robin gave up on trying to force her way past Jake. She took a step back, unconsciously reaching up to touch the bandage on her head. "We tried the bus station; the note said there was no service."

"We could ask people if we can borrow a car," Jake countered. _Or buy one with Freddy's money if we absolutely have to―_but he wasn't so dumb as to mention the money within Harper's hearing. The man had already proven himself a car thief, and Jake didn't trust him at all. "It could take a couple days, but―."

"Days?" Robin blinked at him. She hugged herself, looking torn.

Harper snorted to demonstrate his contempt for Jake. "Don't be so friggin' tight-assed, man, and get the hell in. We could be there tonight." When nobody moved to take him up on his offer, Harper expelled a sharp breath. "Alright. Suit yourselves." He reached for the hatch to slam it shut.

"No!" Robin shoved Jake out of her way and flung her suitcase into the back of the car. "I'm coming."

"Robin, no." Jake grabbed for her, but she danced out of his reach.

Anna, on Robin's other side on the sidewalk, took her by the elbow, gripping lightly. "Robin, are you sure this is what you want to do?" Her voice was soft as she drew the girl aside, out of earshot of the two men.

Their heads close together, she kept talking quietly to Robin. Jake couldn't hear what she was saying, but from their body language, Anna was urging Robin to reconsider her decision. She wasn't having much success, by the looks of it: after a minute, Robin shook her head and stalked back to the car, scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"Robin, don't be stupid." Jake again snatched for her sleeve; he really didn't want to let her go off alone with Harper.

"I'm not a child!" Robin tore herself loose from him. "And you're not my father! You can't tell me what to do!"

Jake winced as the white lie was flung back into his face. He bit back a sharp retort; it would only make her dig her heels in deeper. "Please, think about it."

Tears were streaming down Robin's face. "I just want my mom."

"Jake, let her go." Anna touched Jake's wrist. "We have no right to―." She broke off and drew a breath. "Robin's old enough to make her own decisions." The unspoken _To make her own mistakes_ hung in the air.

"Fine..." Jake threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine!"

"That's settled, then." Harper pointed at the suitcase Robin had put in the back of the car. "That all your stuff, girl?"

Robin sniffled, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "Yeah. And this." She offered Harper the small backpack from her shoulder, and he stashed it on top of the suitcase.

"Let's hustle." Harper slammed the hatch shut. "I wanna be in Houston before midnight."

Robin paused beside the passenger door without getting in. She glanced at Jake and Anna from under her lashes.

Anna decisively took a step forward and pulled Robin into her arms to give her a quick hug. "Take care, you hear?"

Robin mumbled, "I will." She turned toward Jake. "I'm, um..." Her voice trailed off and she scuffed at the ground with the toe of her sneaker.

"Hey." Jake forced himself to give her a smile in encouragement. "It's okay." It wasn't, at all, but he had no idea what else he could do to convince Robin to stay with him and Anna. He didn't know Harper, and despite his peace sign button, for all Jake knew, the guy could be a rapist and a murderer as well as a car thief. Or just a plain bad driver who'd wrap the car around the first tree they came across. Awkwardly, unsure how she'd react, he drew Robin to him. She hugged him back, hard. "Be safe," Jake muttered in her hair.

"I will." Robin spoke in a whisper. She brushed a fresh tear from her cheek, offering him a tremulous smile at the same time, and got in the car.

Harper drove off, and Jake watched the station wagon's brake light flare briefly as he steered them around the corner and out of sight.

"So... What should we do?" Anna's quiet question broke Jake out of his reverie.

"I don't know..." He plopped down on the bench, scrubbing a palm over his face. "See if we can get us a car, I guess." He had no clue where to start looking, though. He glanced up at Anna. "Was I wrong? Maybe we should have gone―."

"No." She sat next to him, angling to face him. "No, you were right. With those guys that killed Freddy―." Her voice caught on Freddy's name, and she scrunched up her face. "I hope Robin's gonna be okay."

"Me too." Would he ever learn if she'd reached her destination okay? Despite Anna's reassurances, Jake still wished he'd tried harder to stop her, even if he didn't know how.

Anna clutched her purse to her chest. "Did you talk to the sheriff? What did he say?"

Giving himself a mental shake, Jake filed his thoughts of Robin away. No use in fretting over what-ifs. What was done was done; Robin was gone, and he should concentrate on his and Anna's next step. "Not much." He rubbed his hands on his knees, watching another convoy of National Guard trucks roll by. "Wanted me to tell my side of what happened on the bus yesterday."

"Did he..." She swallowed. "Did he tell you what happened in Dallas?"

"Not for a fact." Jake tilted his head sideways at her. "Communications are down, and there's no TV or satellite reception anywhere in town. All Kobler could give me was rumors and gossip." He paused, dreading to tell her what the rumors said. Bracing himself, he added, "He said there's talk of explosions in other cities..."

Anna sucked in a sharp breath. Jake hunched his shoulders, hating to be the one to break the news—but she'd find out eventually.

At last, Anna asked, "Are you sure?"

"Nobody's sure of anything, seemed to me. But that's what Kobler told me."

The silence lengthened again. Jake didn't dare look at Anna again, until she finally broke the quiet, whispering, "Does that mean what happened in Dallas... That it was an attack, not an accident?"

Jake tilted his head unhappily. "Probably." As he'd told Kobler, it'd be too much of a coincidence to believe otherwise.

"Did he say which other cities were hit?" She cleared her throat. "Is Houston―."

"No." Jake shook his head sharply. "No, Houston wasn't on the list." He wouldn't have allowed Robin leave with Harper if there'd even been a hint of rumor that Houston had been attacked. He'd have tied the girl down before letting her go.

Anna heaved a deep sigh. "Thank God."

For several minutes, they sat in renewed silence, each immersed in their own thoughts. The crowds marching in and out of the building across the street were lessening. No doubt people were starting to come to grips with the fact that neither their sheriff nor their mayor had any more clue what was going on or what they should do about it than they did.

_Kobler needs to send out those patrols_. It's what his father would do: pair up volunteers and have them go out on the main routes, at least as far as the next town. As Kobler had said, Vernon was deaf, dumb and blind to whatever was going on out there, and it sounded like the National Guard passing through didn't know any more than that they needed to hot-foot it to Dallas. Jake shivered, seeing the mushroom cloud rising again in his mind's eye. Perhaps, in this case, ignorance really was bliss.

He cleared his throat to draw Anna's attention. "I was thinking," he began slowly," we should stick around for a couple days. You know, until we have a better idea of what's what." Vernon was a pitiful town, but it was safe. Safer than whatever was out there, at least.

"Jake..." Anna's eyes filled with tears. "I can't. My parents must be worrying themselves sick. Please...?"

Jake scratched his neck, regarding her thoughtfully. He'd half-expected that reaction from her; and maybe she was right. Maybe they were better off trying to reach her family as soon as they could. God knows what else was might happen in the next few days. "Okay."

Again, they grew silent, Jake trying to come up with a plan for their next move.

Anna broke the quiet first. "Any ideas on what we should do?" She spoke softly, but Jake could hear the determination in her voice. He had to admire her for it: she didn't give up easily. She snuck a peek at him.

"We'll have to get a car." He shifted on the hard bench. "Borrow one, buy one..." He huffed a wry laugh. "Steal one."

Anna pressed her lips together, clearly not amused. Jake didn't think it was very funny, either. Ironic, yes. Funny, no.

"What about renting?"

"Can't. Kobler says the nearest rental place is in Wichita Falls." He thought of the National Guard trucks they'd seen going southward. "Maybe we can hitch a ride," he added without much hope. He suspected the National Guard wouldn't be keen to take on passengers, and neither would anyone else. "Anyway," he clambered to his feet and held out a hand to Anna, "whatever we decide to do, we can't do it on an empty stomach."

The small breakfast they'd eaten was hours ago, as his stomach was reminding him hollowly. He doubted any diners were open, but he'd seen a supermarket that was doing business along the way to the sheriff's office.

Anna took his hand and he helped her to her feet. She looked tired and drawn, but she didn't object to going in search for lunch. He rasped a hand across the stubble on his chin―he probably looked like a bum―and reoriented himself, trying to recall where he'd seen the supermarket.

o0o

"I think they took it all," the supermarket's owner told him bitterly, fifteen minutes later. They'd caught him locking up his store, but he stepped aside to wave them through. "You're welcome to whatever you can find."

As they navigated the aisles, Jake quickly confirmed the manager's words: the place had been stripped bare. Empty shelves bore silent witness to people's desire to stock up on whatever they could grab. All that remained for them to find were a crumpled packet of chocolate chip cookies, two candy bars lodged in the gap between two of the shelves, and an overlooked jar of pineapple juice. Everything else, from laundry detergent to soda, and from toilet paper to canned goods, was gone.

Jake had hoped for something more substantial to eat than cookies. But beggars can't be choosers, and Anna assured him it'd be fine. The store manager laughed humorlessly at Jake's offer to pay him. He waved them off brusquely. "Your few bucks ain't gonna make a lick of difference."

Jake thanked him for his kindness. Clutching their meager discoveries, they left the man to lock up what was left of his ransacked store.

Ambling along the streets, Jake holding the packet of cookies between them so they both could dip in as they walked, they searched for the telltale tinfoil garlands of a car dealership. Jake also hoped to locate a bookstore where they could get a map of Texas. He did have a rough image of the state's layout in his head, of course: Dallas and Fort Worth to the east, Houston in the south, near the coast, with San Antonio out further west completing the triangle of metropolises. The fastest track to Houston would be along the bus route. However, that would lead them straight through Dallas, and Jake was very sure of one thing: he wanted to give that city a very wide berth.

They located a bookstore a couple blocks further west, on Wilbarger Street, not far from the sheriff's office. Miraculously, the store's windows were unbroken, NYT bestsellers and celebrity autobiographies on display. Jake uttered a snort: books evidently hadn't been high on the looters' list of treasures.

He tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it didn't budge.

"It's closed." Anna pointed at a sign in the window.

"I can see that," Jake grumbled in annoyance. "But―." With his hands shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, he pressed his nose to the glass. The store was dark and empty. He knocked, rapping the glass with his knuckles, more to give vent to his frustration than in expectation of a reaction. A woman's face, her features tight with worry, suddenly appeared in the gloom. Startled, Jake jumped back.

Anna giggled nervously.

Stepping closer to the door again, Jake raised his voice. "Please, we just want to buy a map?" He gave the woman his most innocuous smile.

She looked him up and down, and shook her head. "We're closed," she mouthed, pointing at the sign.

Jake gritted his teeth, but he couldn't really fault the woman: having witnessed the violence last night, the town thrown into chaos and every man out for himself, he wouldn't open the door to a pair of random strangers either.

While Jake was considering other places they might try for a map, Anna nudged him aside. She knocked on the door again. "Ma'am? Please? We have money." She held up her purse to show the woman. "All we want is a map of Texas, so we can go home. Please?"

Jake didn't hold much stock in Anna's attempts to convince the scared bookstore owner. To his surprise, however, after a minute, the lock clicked softly and the door eased open a small crack. Jake started for the opening, but the woman put out a hand to stop him.

"Just her." She aimed a finger at Anna. "Not you."

Jake was still debating whether he should let Anna go in alone, when she brushed passed him. "I'll be fine." She slipped in through the narrow gap, and the door was quickly locked behind her. Jake assessed it, considering whether he'd be able to kick it in if he heard Anna cry out or if it took too long for her to return.

He needn't worried: Anna slipped back out less than five minutes later, carrying a foldout Rand McNally map for Texas that she showed him triumphantly. The door slammed shut behind her. An instant later, the shades were yanked down roughly.

Jake grinned at her, relieved. "I guess that went well." He nodded at the blinds.

Anna made a noise. "Give the woman a break. She's just scared."

"I guess." He took the map from Anna and unfolded it.

Now that he could use the map to orient himself properly, Jake was dismayed to see how far from Houston they still were. Grasping it intellectually was not the same thing as seeing it on paper. And the need to avoid Dallas added to the distance, making it―he quickly calculated and checked against the scale― roughly five hundred miles altogether. Twelve hours, at least, driving on the highways. Assuming they didn't run into any trouble, or weren't forced to take any detours.

Assuming they could find a car...

"I also asked her about dealerships." Anna grinned up at him, seemingly unaware of his dismay. "She said there's a guy on Cedar Street. We could try there."

"Hm." Jake refolded the map and stuffed it in his back pocket. If they couldn't get a ride, Houston might as well be on the moon instead of five hundred miles south. Crossly, he asked, "Where's that?"

"Um..." Anna's smile faltered at his clipped tone. "A mile in that direction?" She pointed back down the street they'd walked up ten minutes earlier, and cocked her head uncertainly as she watched him.

"Sorry." He should be grateful she'd had the smarts to ask the bookstore owner about dealers. And it wasn't Anna's fault he was getting sick and tired of slogging first one way and then another across this damned town. He forced himself to smile at her. "That was good thinking. Thank you."

They set off back in the direction they'd come. A dozen paces later, Jake let out a wry chuckle as another thought struck him. "With all the traipsing around we're doing―"

With a laugh, Anna finished, understanding him at once, "―we could've been halfway to Houston already."

o0o


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tinfoil flags fluttered noisily in the breeze over the car lot. For-sale vehicles were parked in neat rows, hand-written price placards displayed on their dashboards. The office's doors were locked tight, however, with the roller blinds drawn, and there wasn't a salesman in sight. Hoping against hope, Jake knocked on the door.

"That's not gonna help." Anna's disappointment was obvious in her irritated outburst.

Noting how she slumped in defeat against the fender of a nearby truck, Jake bit back the sharp retort that had sprung to his own lips. It wouldn't do either of them any good. They were both tired of schlepping back and forth, and frustrated that, for all their effort, they were stuck in the same position as they'd been at the start of the day.

Before he could formulate a less irritated response, a small noise behind him made Jake spin around. "Help you?" The man who emerged in the doorway was old and stooped, with the weathered face of a guy who'd spend his entire life in the outdoors. His rheumy eyes blinked up at Jake and Anna dubiously.

"I hope so." Jake gestured at the lot. "We need a car. To rent, or to buy."

"I see..." Again, the man shifted his gaze from Jake to Anna and back to Jake uncertainly. "I'm sorry, but... The owner's out of town. I'm just lookin' after the shop, I don't know that I can―."

"Please." Anna's voice hitched on the word. "We do need a car."

The man sighed. "Ma'am, even if I had the authority to sell you a car, how you think you gonna pay for it? Computers are down." He knitted his brows together sadly. "'Sides, I can't file the proper paperwork."

"We can pay." Before Jake could stop her, Anna had dug around in her purse and pulled out the rumpled envelope. She waved the wad of cash in the man's face. From the way his jaw stiffened in mistrust, it was the wrong thing to do.

"Sorry, can't help you." He started closing the door.

In desperation, Jake planted his foot on the threshold, preventing the man from shutting the door on them. He hissed at Anna, "Put that away." Showing large amounts of cash was never smart: it gave people ideas. Although, from the frightened look on the man's face as Jake blocked him from closing the door, robbing them was the furthest thing on the guy's mind. He looked like he was afraid they'd rob _him_.

"Please," Jake pleaded, "we're stranded. We need transportation to get to Houston."

The man let up shoving against the door to try and get Jake to step back. He heaved a shaky breath. "Burt'll be back in a day or two. You could come back then."

"Two _days_? I can't stay here another two days." Behind Jake, Anna uttered a noise somewhere between a sob and a dismayed moan.

It wasn't lost on Jake how she was echoing Robin's dismay when the girl had realized it could be days before she saw her mother. He had to come up with a solution soon, or Anna might do something as desperate and unwise as Robin had. "Is there any other place we can try?" He drew his foot back at last, flexing his toes inside his boot.

The old man mulled it over. "You could ask Murphy. Might be he's got somethin' he can sell you that'll get you to Houston." He proceeded to give them directions—to somewhere not far from the hotel they'd started out from that morning.

If he'd known how their day would go, Jake grumbled wordlessly, burdened under both his own duffel and Anna's bag, they could've left their stuff at the hotel and spared themselves the effort of lugging it with them. Chances were, even if Murphy had a car to sell them, it would be better if they stayed the night and started out at first light. He didn't want to drive around in the dark in a world that had gone as mad as this one had.

Murphy's proved to be a junkyard close to the highway: dented clunkers in various stages of decay were lined up in untidy rows to be scavenged for usable parts, their faded paint gleaming dull orange in the late afternoon sun. "We're supposed to get a car _in this place_?" Anna asked.

Jake didn't answer. "Wait here," he told her as they entered the gates into the yard. He dropped the bags from his shoulder. "I'll see what I can find out."

It didn't take him long to discover they wouldn't be able to buy a car at Murphy's, either. At least not tonight. The garage bay doors were all closed and padlocked tight. A peek through a dirty window revealed a couple pickups inside, the hoods up, which implied Murphy was planning on working on them soon. He returned to where Anna was waiting. "They're closed. We'll try again tomorrow."

Anna's expression crumpled with this new blow, and she plopped down on a nearby heap of threadbare tires, hiding her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Hey..." Jake walked over to her, reaching for her and hesitating at the last second, unsure if he should console her. He knelt in front of her, putting a hand on her knee and squeezing gently. "Hey, it'll be alright."

She palmed the tears that streaked her cheeks. "I'm sorry." She sniffled. "It's just―." She flapped a hand. "Everything."

He pulled her to him, awkwardly hugging her. She clung to him for a moment before she exhaled slowly and drew back, wiping away her tears. She cleared her throat. "I guess we should find a place to stay for the night, huh?" She attempted to give him a smile, and he squeezed her shoulder.

"We can go back to the hotel. It's not far." Jake clenched his jaw in anticipation of a second round with the bottom-feeder at the reception; he wasn't gonna pay triple what the room was worth a second time. He forced himself to relax—they'd cross that bridge when they came to it—and picked up their bags. Tomorrow he'd be smarter. He'd leave Anna at the hotel to wait for him, while he went out to search for a car. The time off her feet would be good for her, and he wouldn't have to haul their stuff all over the place, either. Once he'd gotten them a ride, he'd swing by to pick her up, and they could be on their way at last.

o0o

They did spent the second night at the Holiday Inn; by the time they got back, the woman who'd served them at breakfast was working the reception and she offered them the same room for a normal price. She also confirmed the power and phones were still down and that there'd been no fresh news about what had happened in Dallas—or anywhere else—to add to what Kobler had told Jake earlier in the day. In the morning, Jake paid a second visit to Murphy's. This time, the place was open. Murphy was a burly guy with a nose that gave the impression it had been broken once or twice. It hadn't stopped him from sniffing out Jake's desperation as he looked Jake up and down while he wiped his hands on a grease-smeared towel. Despite applying every haggling skill Jake had learned over the years, Murphy drove a hard bargain, forcing Jake to fork over a large portion of their cash. The car, an old Ford pickup that had been white once, wasn't worth a fraction of the money Murphy was demanding, and Jake hadn't been able to keep from grumbling about it.

"Final offer, take it or leave it." Murphy showed Jake a gap-toothed grin, watching him with barely concealed glee.

If it had just been him to consider, Jake would've refused to give in to what was bare-faced robbery. But he couldn't bear to come back to Anna empty-handed. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he watched Murphy count the bills he'd handed over with dirty fingers and tried to picture how happy Anna would be that he had finally found a way to take her home.

At least, he consoled himself, driving the pickup out of yard and turning onto the road to the hotel, the engine was in reasonable condition. He'd made sure of that before agreeing to Murphy's outrageous demands, as well as demanding Murphy provide him with a tank of gas and a full spare can as well. He'd also insisted on crawling under the clunker to determine they weren't going to break an axle on the first pothole they came across. Any other mechanical problem that might crop up, he should be able to deal with. He was confident the car would see them to Houston. So never mind that the truck's bed was rusted through and you could see the road underneath it. Or that the vinyl upholstery of the bench was torn in a number of places and the springs were threatening to prick whoever sat on it.

Anna was waiting for him in the reception area of the hotel. She came out as soon as she saw him climb from the truck. Her face lit up with delight upon seeing him with a car, and Jake forgot his irritation over being ripped-off knowingly. Until he remembered he had to tell her he spent the money that had been meant to be for the baby.

"I didn't want that money in the first place. That's―." She broke off what she'd been about to say, and gave him a quick hug. "Thank you."

"'s Nothing," Jake mumbled, abashed. Seeing Anna happy had made him feel a whole lot better about their situation, despite the journey ahead of them.

Eager to get out on the road and get started, they quickly loaded their few belongings into the cab and Jake got in behind the wheel.

"Wait. There's something..." Not explaining further, Anna trotted off toward the hotel's small office. She returned a few minutes later, carrying a cardboard box. The friendly woman who ran the hotel waddled after her, clutching a folded blanket to her ample bosom.

"Mrs Cramer has been kind enough to give us supplies." Anna tilted the box toward Jake, so he could see its contents. It was filled with cellophaned crackers, a couple of juice bottles, and several single servings of cereals. A few bruised apples had been tied together in a plastic bag and put with the rest.

"I also put in candles and matchbooks," Mrs. Cramer puffed on reaching them. "I'd give you a flashlight if I had any to spare but..." She shrugged and waved at the building. "Guests have to come first. Here." She held out the folded blanket to Jake. "You take this, too. You might need it."

Jake was too startled to refuse the blanket, the wool scratchy against his palms as he clutched it. "How much―?" She'd charged them a decent fee for the room, so he was happy to offer to pay for the supplies.

"Oh, pshaw!" Mrs Cramer flapped a hand. "Don't you worry 'bout that. The food's gonna go to waste otherwise, and the blanket is old. Can't properly use it on a guest bed any longer.

"Thanks." Jake spread the blanket over the vinyl bench, covering up the worst of the tears and stains.

"You get this young lady safely back to her folks, you hear?" Mrs Cramer peered up at Jake. The stern expression she was striving for was betrayed by the twinkle in her eyes. Behind her, Anna offered Jake a shy smile. He suspected the two women had spend quite some time chatting while he was gone.

"Yes, Ma'am." He grinned as he helped Anna into the cab.

Mrs Cramer, alone in the parking lot, waved as they left. Jake honked briefly in farewell and settled in for the drive.

By this time tomorrow, they would be in Houston, their ordeal over.

o0o

Less than fifteen miles later, by Jake's reckoning, they came upon their first accident. A pale green Mercury had buried itself in the flank of a small red car―Korean or Japanese. Jake slowed to skirt around the wreckage. Short skid marks streaked the pavement, evidence the Mercury's driver had braked hard, and glass and debris were strewn all over the road. Jake veered into the other lane and tried not to look at the body slumped over the wheel of the Mercury. Of the driver of the red car, he saw no sign.

"Jake, wait!" Anna twisted in her seat to peer at the wreckage as they passed by. "We have to stop and see―."

"No, we don't," Jake interrupted. He risked a final glance in the rear-view mirror to confirm he was clear of the crumpled metal, before changing back to his own lane. "Didn't you see the dust on those cars?" he added in response to the incredulous look Anna threw him. He couldn't blame her; part of him _had_ wanted to stop, the predisposition to help strong. But years of driving in convoys in the Middle East had taught him to resist the impulse. And while Texas wasn't Iraq, instinct told him they should keep going. "That accident happened a while ago. There's nothing we can do for them."

The crash had probably happened right after the attacks; their bus driver couldn't have been the only one so distracted by the mushroom cloud rising up that he'd failed to stay focused on the road. Luckily, their driver had had the presence of mind to hit the brakes before he smashed the bus into something.

"Oh..." Anna was quiet for a mile. Glancing in her direction from the corner of his eye, Jake could see she had her head bent as she plucked at the seam of her jeans. "I thought I saw..."

"I know," he consoled her softly.

Anna swallowed, the blood draining from her face as the driver's fate sank in. "If it happened that long ago, why hasn't anybody come to take them to a hospital?"

Jake shifted gears and pressed the gas pedal deeper. The truck gained speed reluctantly. "Guess everyone's busy." Or could be they all preferred to stay holed up in their towns, like Sheriff Kobler and his deputies.

No, that wasn't entirely fair. Kobler had had his hands full in town, as had the hospital staff, if those hours they'd waited for someone to see Robin were anything to go by. They wouldn't have had anyone to spare to take care of the crash victims―assuming they were even aware an accident had happened.

Anna hmm'ed unhappily, but she didn't argue his point. She'd seen her share of the chaos in Vernon.

As the miles slipped by under the old truck's wheels, they met one other car, heading north. Otherwise, the road was completely deserted. As the lone car, a sedan sagging on its springs under the furniture and boxes piled high on its roof, flashed by, Jake snatched a glimpse of children's pale faces in the back seat, bags and suitcases piled high around them.

A dozen miles further on, they came across their second wreck: a single-car accident, where an old station wagon had driven straight off the road, diving nose-first into the dry ditch running alongside the highway. The windshield was cracked, the car abandoned, and they saw nobody, alive or dead. Jake didn't even slow down.

The further they went, the more his skin prickled with unease, an itch he couldn't scratch. The news that a number of cities had been hit had kept him awake half the night and he wished he hadn't given Kobler the gun after driving the bus back to town; he was slowly beginning to understand how little he truly knew of what had been going on in the rest of the world while he'd focused on getting them moving again. A box of crackers and a ratty blanket made for poor preparation for all the possible contingencies he was starting to imagine.

Despite his misgivings, he kept the Ford at a moderate clip; this early in their journey, he didn't want to strain the old engine unnecessarily. He was also trying to make up his mind about the best route to take. Should they stick to the highway? Or would it be wiser to go by smaller, lesser-used roads? On the one hand, the highway was faster and would get them to their destination sooner. On the other, all it would take was one bad pile-up they couldn't get around and they'd have to turn back and take a detour anyway. He reckoned there was less chance of running into something like that on the backroads.

Another hour went by. They passed through several small settlements, all of which appeared utterly deserted, though Jake wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. He reckoned they'd made thirty or forty miles since saying goodbye to Mrs Cramer―the truck's odometer was broken―and was moderately pleased with their progress. Especially as they hadn't seen any further wrecks after the first two accidents and he was growing more and more hopeful the highway would be clear all the way to Houston.

At his side, Anna had drifted off into a light doze, the car's gentle motion slowly making her drop sideways until her head was resting on Jake's shoulder. Jake hardly dared to shift gears for fear of jostling her awake.

To their unspoken mutual relief, she hadn't been sick on waking. But these last days had been stressful. While Jake didn't know much about pregnancies or babies, he didn't believe stress could be beneficial. He planned on providing her with as much rest as possible.

He drove on, yawning and fighting off sleep. The area they were traveling through was monotonous: flat farm fields or bare plains, with patches of low, pale brush dotting the landscape left and right. He could see for miles―if there'd been anything worth seeing. He wished the Ford had a radio to help him stay awake.

Then something on the road ahead of him made him blink into the glare of the sun. What the hell...? Had he fallen asleep without noticing, and was he dreaming he was driving? No. He gave himself a mental shake to dismiss the theory. That couldn't be; he'd have crashed the Ford for certain if he had.

The air over the road was shimmering with heat, so his second, more rational thought was that what he was seeing was a heat-induced mirage. But though he blinked repeatedly, resisting the urge to scrub at his eyes, the sight in front of him remained the same, quickly growing larger as he got closer. Reflexively, he eased his foot off of the accelerator and the truck slowed to a crawl.

The change in motion woke Anna and she started upright. She hid a yawn behind her palm, adding an embarrassed, "Um...," once she realized she'd been using Jake's shoulder for a pillow. He offered her an absent half-smile in response.

"Where...?" Anna began. Her voice faltered as she peered forward through windshield. "What on Earth is _that_?"

"A plane." Jake figured her question was more rhetorical than that she really needed an answer, since they were close enough now to make out the registration number painted on the aircraft's fuselage.

The plane―a Boeing 737-700 from Southwest Airlines―had come down hard, though it had survived the crash-landing surprisingly well. It was still in one piece and the pilots must have ditched whatever fuel had been on board before setting down, because there was no sign of fire. The pilot hadn't landed the plane without some damage, though. At the end of its run, he'd lost control, and the aircraft had veered off from the blacktop, its nose wheel carving a furrow in the shoulder before it dipped into the ditch, leaving the plane sagging at an angle. The right wing had hit the power lines running along the road and been sheared off. The left wing, still whole, extended far out into the field. Jake whistled through his teeth in admiration at the skill it must've taken to set down the big jetliner on the narrow highway: the rear wheels had only a couple of feet of room to spare on either side.

Bringing the Ford to a halt, he shut off the engine, leaving the soft _tick-tick_ of it cooling as the only sound. For the rest, the silence surrounding them was absolute: not even birds or crickets broke the quiet.

Jake slowly climbed out of the truck, and walked toward the plane. Anna used the unexpected stop to disappear into the underbrush. After she was finished, she came to stand beside him, her mouth open as she gaped up at the cockpit, fifteen feet above their heads. "What happened to it?" she whispered.

"The explosions must've taken ATC offline." It took a conscious effort to not answer her in a similarly hushed tone and his voice sounded awfully loud in the stillness. Why had the pilot tried to land on this road, and not the interstate sixty or so miles further south? That would've been an easier landing. Perhaps they'd been trying to make for a local airport?

"ATC?" Anna still kept her voice low.

"Air Traffic Control." Jake ambled closer to inspect the Boeing. The tire on the front landing gear had blown and pieces of rubber lay scattered across the road behind it.

"But why would they land _here_?"

"They must've been desperate. With air traffic control gone―." Jake paused. "Imagine ten thousand planes in the sky, and nobody telling them where to go or where to put down." Anna paled at the bleak picture he'd sketched her. Jake went on, "I'm guessin' they were flying to Dallas and ran low on fuel." He indicated the stretch of highway behind them. "The road runs straight for several miles. It's a pretty good spot for an emergency landing."

Assuming there weren't any cars on the road―conceivably that was why the pilot had landed here: less chance of traffic than on the interstate and a far better option than trying to put such a big plane down in a field. To the naked eye, the surrounding countryside might give the impression it was flat, but Jake knew it would be littered with shallow gullies and rabbit holes and outcroppings of rock, hidden in the yellowed grass.

No, as absurd as it was to see a jetliner sit on a country highway, under the circumstances, it also made sense. If Jake had been faced with a similar choice, he would've likely made the same decision.

He was less impressed once it occurred to him the Boeing was blocking the entire road. It'd be impossible to drive around it. Maybe if they'd had an off-road vehicle, they could've tried going across the fields. With the old truck, that was a sure-fire way to break a vital part and strand them right here. No, they'd have to backtrack, find a different route.

Contemplating their situation, Jake continued to walk around the aircraft. Anna stuck close to his heels. The emergency doors over the wings were wide open and the inflatable slides had deployed from the front and aft doors, suggesting the passengers had disembarked the grounded aircraft safely.

Anna peered up at one of the slides, the doorway a gaping hole at its top. "Where is everyone?"

The deep quiet surrounding them told Jake that whoever had been in that plane had long since left the area. At least, that's what he hoped. "Gone, I guess." He calculated quickly: at maximum capacity, the Boeing would've carried a hundred fifty passengers, a two-men flight crew, and a handful of cabin crew.

"Gone where?"

"No idea." Jake reached the left wing, the man-high engine blocking his way. "They probably waited for help for a while. Once they realized nobody was coming, they must've opted to move out on foot." He mentally brought up the map of Texas, its paper twin still back in the Ford. "To Wichita Falls, I suppose." He looked at the emergency door, an idea slowly forming in his mind. "Wait here," he told Anna. "I'll be right back."

She made to hold on to his sleeve. "Where are you going?"

"I want to take a look inside." Jake jerked his head at the aircraft. "See if there's any sign of what happened to the passengers and crew. And there could be stuff in there we can use." He wasn't sure he'd find anything useful; it all depended on how thoroughly the passengers had ransacked the plane's provisions before leaving. But it was worth a try.

Using the air intake for a foothold, he swung up onto the nearest engine. Its surface was smooth and round and slippery, and he slithered forward on his belly until he could grab hold of the wing flaps and drag himself onto the flat surface of the wing.

"I'm coming with you." As Jake twisted around to sit up, he saw Anna was setting a foot in the inlet.

"No, you'd better stay out here. Keep watch." He didn't want her to come up when he didn't know what he'd come across inside. The emergency slides suggested everyone had gotten out, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't stumble upon dead bodies left behind. He didn't want her to have to see that, if it came to it. "Holler if you see anyone approach."

Anna hesitated, one foot on the air intake.

"I won't be long," Jake promised and started crawling over the wing toward the door. He ducked his head to climb in. Inside, he straightened and surveyed the cabin.

It was gloomy inside compared to the bright Texas sun, but the light that spilled through the windows showed him the cabin was a mess. Luggage had spilled from the overhead bins and the floor was littered with trash: crumpled newspapers, empty coffee cups, one high-heeled shoe. The air smelled faintly of scorched vinyl and melted rubber, and something unpleasant he couldn't define.

He located the source of the smell soon enough, though, and was glad he'd asked Anna to wait outside. Even at a quick glance, forcing down his nausea, he counted several mangled bodies. And his initial estimate had been wrong: there'd been a fire after all. A brief one, that had been put out quickly and barely had done more than scorch the rear galley. But the fire wasn't what had killed those people. The emergency slide on that side of the aircraft had failed, and the passengers had trampled each other to death in their panic to get away from the flames. It struck him as a nasty way to die.

Shuddering and not wanting to examine the dead people any more closely, Jake aimed for the cockpit. He located the logs and scanned them, discovering he'd been correct: the aircraft had been en route from Fort Lauderdale to Dallas. But they couldn't tell him what he _really_ wanted to know: what the hell had happened? What had the men flying this Boeing seen? Why had they landed in the middle of rural Texas?

He considered searching for the cockpit voice recorder, dismissing the plan as soon as it had formed. The voice recorder would be located near the rear of the plane and he had no desire to go near those corpses. Besides, chances were that the black box was one of the new digital systems he wouldn't be able to access. And if it was an old-fashioned tape system, he didn't have the equipment to play it, either. No, the data recorders were useless to him.

Abandoning the logs on the pilot's seat, he left the cockpit and started searching through the cabin systematically, looking for anything they could use: flashlights, food, a med kit. He soon discovered the first aid kits were all gone, a sign that one person at least had used their brain during the evacuation. He went through the drawers and compartments in the front galley, collecting a few snacks and bottles of water that had been forgotten. Behind a locker, he discovered the survival equipment and uttered a small grunt of triumph. The kit was designed to be used if the aircraft ever had to ditch in the water, and it had to have been on board or the plane would never have been allowed to fly over the Gulf.

"Jake?" Anna's voice drifted up while he was separating the detachable oars and the fishing gear from the rest of the survival set. "I think there's a car coming."

"How far off?" Jake called back. He quickly browsed through the rest of the supplies, separating out the flashlights and emergency rations.

"Not sure. Still a ways away." There was another pause. "It's coming on fast, though."

Jake checked the flare gun from the kit, stashed it in his jeans at his back, and put the flares with the rest of his hoard. A flare gun wasn't very useful as a weapon, but it'd serve in a pinch. He finished emptying the kit and stuffed everything he wanted to take with them back inside the box, snatching a couple of the thin blankets the airliner provided and adding the provisions he'd taken from the galley.

Anna was anxiously waiting for him near the wing by the time he slithered down to land neatly on his feet, dragging the box with him. The air outside the plane was hot and dry, but pleasantly fresh, and he inhaled a deep lungful.

"Where's that car?" He shifted the heavy box in his arms.

"Back there. I think there are two." Anna pointed toward the other end of the Boeing. The highway stretched out straight as far as they could see, until it merged with the horizon. She was right; Jake spotted two distinct reflections: the sun glinting off metal roofs. SUVs or pickups, he reckoned, coming at them at high speed, judging by the thin dust trail they were throwing up in their wake.

"We'd best get going." He nudged Anna with an elbow.

"Shouldn't we wait?" She raised a hand to shield her eyes as she squinted in the direction of the oncoming cars.

"No." Jake trotted toward the Ford. "Come on." He'd thought of waiting for the newcomers and rejected the idea even before he'd known there were two cars and not one. Anna jogged to catch up with him. While he put the box into the Ford's rear bed, he explained, "We don't know who they are, or what they want."

"Do you think...," Anna paused while she hoisted herself back into the passenger seat, "they're the ones... who killed Freddy?"

"No. They can't be that lucky." Jake started the engine and put the car in gear. But even if he didn't believe the people approaching were involved with Ravenwood—they could be perfectly innocent locals—he'd seen enough madness in the last few days to be mistrustful of strangers. "We'd best avoid contact with people until we get to Houston."

"Okay." Anna's voice was small.

Working to reverse the car so they could go back the way they'd come, he nodded at the map on the dashboard. "Can you see where we should turn off?"

"Sure." Grateful for something to do, Anna snatched map and unfolded it, studying it carefully, before telling him there should be a side road a mile further on that they could take.

Finding the turn-off exactly where she'd said it would be, Jake smiled to himself. Anna being able to read a map could be useful.

As he steered the Ford into the side road, he cast a final glance in the rear-view mirror. Of the two cars that had been coming up toward the plane, he saw no sign.

o0o

They stopped for a quick bite an hour later, once Jake was convinced they weren't being followed. Nibbling on crackers and sipping juice from the stash Mrs Cramer had given them, they took the opportunity to stretch their legs. When they were ready to go on, the truck lurched off awkwardly, the pedals not responding smoothly to Jake's touch. He muttered a curse under his breath while he fought to get the Ford back under control.

"This road should take us back to the highway." Anna had been studying the map while they ate, and she held it up for him, indicating a squiggly white line and tapping a finger at where the squiggle connected with the thicker red line that signified the main road. "The turn-off should be coming right up."

Jake glanced at the map. "I'm thinking we shouldn't use the highway."

"Why not?" Anna dropped the map in her lap. "It's a lot faster."

"It's also less safe." Jake twisted the wheel to avoid a muddy pothole. It had rained overnight; where the sun hadn't yet burned off the moisture, the dirt road was slick and tricky. From the corner of his eye, Jake saw Anna's brows were drawn down in puzzlement. "Those cars we saw," he explained. "We don't know who they were, or what they wanted."

"Jake!" Anna uttered a laugh. "They could've been people trying to go somewhere. Like us."

"True, they could be." Jake grimaced ruefully. They hadn't seen anyone in several hours, and Anna had clearly pushed away her fears about Ravenwood. Which in itself wasn't a bad thing, but―. "Or maybe not." He sensed more than saw Anna's frustrated scowl. "Listen, it's―." He took one hand off the wheel to gesture helplessly with it, wishing he could explain it better. "It's just a feeling. But it's a feeling I learned to take notice of, when I was in Iraq." Some would call it superstitious, but that instinct had been honed over months driving Route Irish and he'd learned to listen to it, no matter what the situation looked like on the surface. The same instinct, which told him they should avoid the highways and those using them, had made him eager to hurry from the plane crash as soon as Anna had announced she'd spotted cars coming―although, rationally, he knew the odds were she was right, and those people had been regular travelers. Perhaps even officials coming to deal with the plane. "Kept me alive over there."

For a long minute, Anna didn't speak. Then she said, "I thought Freddy kept you alive over there."

Jake flinched, both at her words and the unexpected recrimination in her tone. He risked a second quick glance over, unsure what had made her bring Freddy up. She was staring straight ahead, lips pressed tight.

He cleared his throat and admitted softly, "That, too." Freddy had done much better by him than he had done by his friend. He should've―.

"I'm sorry." Anna reached out and rested her hand on his wrist, her fingers warm on his skin. "You're right. We don't know who those people were, or what they wanted. And I shouldn't have said that. It's not your fault Freddy's dead. Or... or any of this."

_Yeah, well... _Jake met her eyes briefly, noticing they glimmered with unshed tears. He shrugged uncomfortably. "It's okay."

Anna dabbed at her eyes before dropping her hands back in her lap. "I'm―."

"―frustrated?" Jake supplied, mouth twitching in a lopsided smile.

She sniffled back a half-sob, half-choked laughter. "And tired, and... and scared."

Jake huffed a humorless laugh. He eased up on the gas in preparation for the next curve. "I know none of this―," he steered into the curve and brought the car straight before motioning vaguely to indicate their situation, "―makes sense. But I promise we'll get to Houston, okay? Will you trust me on this? Please?"

He watched her bite her lip for a second before she lowered her head, a touch unwillingly but apparently accepting the promise. Jake hoped it was one he'd be able to keep, and that the itchy feeling that had his skin crawling with misgivings would prove unfounded.

As he failed to avoid a slippery rut, the engine whined in protest. He shifted to a lower gear, wishing he'd been able to get them a better car. With a pang of sadness, he thought of his trusty Roadrunner, permitting himself a few minutes in which he relived the memory of his hands curling gently around her steering wheel and how well she'd handled on unreliable roads. He heaved an inward sigh: the car had probably gone up in smoke with the rest of Denver, if the rumors were true. If he'd gone to Jericho, like he'd planned, if he hadn't gone with Anna, he would've―. He blocked that train of thought before he could follow it to the end, ashamed. How could he mourn the loss of his car when hundreds of thousands of people, possibly millions, had died?

It had been a damned fine car, though, a lot nicer than the rust bucket he was currently coaxing to give him another mile.

_Doesn't matter_, he told himself. Even if he'd been driving the Roadrunner, he wouldn't have dared go any faster than in the old Ford. The tracks weren't very different from the ones he'd been navigating half his life, but he was painfully aware he didn't know these roads at all. Surprises could lie in wait behind every curve, and if the ancient truck broke down...?

_Knock on wood._ He chuckled quietly: best not think of such things, or he'd jinx it.

They drove on in silence for a while, Jake casting the occasional look sideways at Anna. She was gazing out at the arid landscape passing by, lost in thought. She hadn't said much since their brief argument, and Jake hoped she wasn't too upset; he honestly did understand—and shared—her desire to get to Houston as quickly as they could. She'd lost her fiancé already, and she must be frantic over her parents' fate.

At least they hadn't encountered any more wrecks or dead bodies since they'd left the highway. But despite the absence of such hindrances, they didn't make great progress. Late afternoon, Jake reckoned they'd gone a little over a hundred miles altogether―less than a quarter of the distance they had to go.

Anna cleared her throat, startling Jake from glum introspective. "Jake? Can you stop the car? I gotta―."

"Again?" The word spilled from Jake's lips before he could catch himself. It wasn't the first time she'd asked him to stop for a bathroom break. Nor was it the second.

Anna blushed. "I'm sorry, it's―." She pursed her lips together. "I _am_ pregnant, you know."

Jake regretted his objection instantly. He hadn't exactly forgotten about the baby, but he'd also not fully realized the consequences of traveling long distances while pregnant. Thinking back, she'd hurried toward the ladies' restroom every time the bus made a stop, too. It had simply been less remarkable to him at the time, since he hadn't had to pull over what felt like every fifteen minutes.

"I'm sorry." He attempted a conciliatory half-smile as he shifted down the gears, considering pulling over onto the shoulder and deciding against it. The side of the road looked soft, and he didn't want to get to stuck in the dirt. They'd be safe enough in the middle of the track; it was highly unlikely they were going to be in anyone's way in the short period it would take Anna to do her business.

"Maybe I should drink less," she suggested, reaching for the door handle.

"What?" It took a second to sink in. "No, please, don't do that." It might avoid the issue in the short run, but it was important they keep their fluids up, especially in the arid Texas air. "It's no problem."

"Okay." Anna got out and ducked her head in. "I'll be right back." Jake watched her until she'd gone out of sight behind a patch of low brush, leaves stained gray with road dust. He let the engine idle, thrumming his fingers on the wheel and gazing out the front window as he waited. It was getting late, and the sun was a golden ball slowly sliding toward the western horizon. _We should start looking for a place to spend the night soon._

He reckoned finding a motel in this part of Texas would mean going back to the highway, despite his misgivings about taking the bigger roads.

Catching movement in the rear view mirror, he shifted his focus, and saw Anna come clumping back out of the field. She trudged along the dirt track toward the car, stopping at the rear of the truck. She looked down at something that had drawn her attention.

"Jake?" Raising her head, she called his name. "I think you should see this."

Jake shut off the engine and hopped from the cab, walking around to join her. She pointed at the right rear tire. "We have a flat."

"Dammit." It took Jake a single glance to confirm Anna was right: the tire was considerably flatter than its mate on the left. That would explain why the truck had gradually started resisting the steering wheel. If it'd been the Roadrunner, he'd have noticed as soon as the problem started... He shook it off: at least the tire hadn't blown and sent them spinning.

"Guess we should get the spare on, huh?" Anna hugged herself. With the sun getting lower on the horizon, the temperature was dropping rapidly, reminding Jake it was late September. The nights would be as cool as the days were hot.

"Guess so." They certainly shouldn't continue to drive with the flat tire. _Not if we want to make it to Houston in this piece of crap._ He resisted the temptation to kick at the offending wheel, and instead hoisted himself up into the truck bed to get the spare. Getting a good look at the thing, he swore a quiet oath. He'd registered that there was a spare was in the back before he bought the Ford, but on closer inspection, he had to wonder if it had ever been removed since the truck had come off the assembly line decades ago.

He thumped his knuckles on the dust-covered rubber experimentally and found it firmer than he'd expected by looks alone. Should he chance them making the nearest town on the punctured tire, running the risk of ruining the rim? Or put on the spare, and risk _that_ blowing on the first rock or pothole they encountered?

He weighed his choices. Whatever had caused the puncture, the hole had to be tiny. If they couldn't find a garage that could replace the bad tire with a new one, they might be able to repair the punctured one sufficiently to allow them to reach Houston. But if he carried on driving on it, he certainly ruin it beyond any chance of repair.

Decision made, he started in on the wingnut that held the spare in place. To his surprise and delight, it wasn't rusted as tightly as he'd feared, and he soon had the spare taken down. A little further digging through the truck's innards and he'd located the jack and wrench. He expelled a breath, thinking that he'd judged the truck too harshly: she came better equipped than he'd have expected from appearances.

Jumping from the bed, he checked the cab to verify he'd put on the hand brake, before he went in search of a flat rock to put up under one of the front wheels for extra security. Walking back to the flat tire, he slid the wrench over the first nut and tried to loosen it. He quickly discovered that years of rust and dirt had glued them on. Muscles corded in his arms as he tried to get the various screws to give; even cautiously putting his foot on the wrench and trying to use his whole body weight didn't help. None of them budged even a fraction.

"Can I help?"

Jake puffed out an exasperated breath and straightened. He gave Anna a considering once-over. She must've misread him, because she stiffened and glared back, adding, "Hey, I'm pregnant, not an invalid. I―."

"Whoa!" Jake let out a laugh and took a step to the side to give her room. Anna's ire deflated and she gave him a wry shrug. Joining him at the wheel, she put her hands beside his on the wrench. In the end, the thick rust couldn't stand up to their combined strength, and after a few seconds of jiggling and straining, the first screw rotated a quarter of an inch with a squeak of protest. Anna let out a triumphant cry, and Jake grinned at her while fitting the wrench over the next screw.

With the screws loosened, the rest of the job was easy: Jake jacked the truck up, replaced the tire with the spare, and tightened the screws again. As they drove on, Jake was even more cautious than before, doing his best to avoid as many of holes and half-hidden rocks as he could.

An hour later, they came upon a wooden sign at a crossroads, informing them the town of Redfield was two miles to the east. East was entirely the wrong direction, but Jake turned onto the track anyway. Up ahead, on the horizon, he could see a church steeple, burning orange in the setting sun. A town with its own church was likely to also have a garage and, with luck, it'd even offer a motel, or an inn. They could fix up their tire, get themselves a good night's sleep and a decent meal, and be on the road bright and early the next morning.

The final five hundred yards of road as they rolled into Redfield was paved, the blacktop cracked and uneven. The road widened, first to a two-lane and then further, providing room for parking spaces. But other than a lone, dented pickup, the place seemed abandoned, the spaces empty. Jake didn't see a soul, either, though he sensed wary eyes following them from behind curtains and shuttered windows.

Two guys, dressed in jeans and checkered shirts, lounged on the church steps, carrying rifles, the first signs Redfield wasn't as deserted as it had initially looked. They rose to their feet, staring darkly as Jake drove by, and he chewed on his cheek thoughtfully. Maybe coming in to Redfield hadn't been such a smart idea after all. He considered about stepping on the gas and continuing on until they came across the next track south. Seeing the red-and-white sign for a Conoco service station made him rethink: they needed to get that damned tire fixed and filled with air, and, if at all possible, the tank topped off with gas. The indicator on the dash was broken and he didn't think they were at risk of running on empty any time soon, but God knows how long it'd be until the next gas station.

Pretending to ignore the two rednecks at the church, he turned into the service station, bringing the truck to a halt at the pumps. As he reached for his door, he told Anna, "Stay inside, okay."

She craned her neck so she could peer into the rear view mirror. In its reflection, they could see the two men sauntering up across the road toward the service station. "Hurry."

Not needing to be told twice, Jake dropped from the driver's seat and checked the flare gun, before lodging it in his belt at his back. He wished it was a real gun. Huffing a wry laugh at his own expense―_if wishes were horses..._―he trotted around the truck. He got into the bed and loosened the fastenings that had held the flat tire secured in the spare's place.

"Pump's closed." Glancing over his shoulder, Jake saw the two guys had reached them. One was cradling his shotgun in his arms, the other had planted the stock in the palm of one hand, the muzzle resting against his shoulder.

Jake quirked an eyebrow at them; despite the late hour, there was a light on in the small workshop―from the dim glow, he suspected it was a Coleman lamp―and he could see someone moving around inside.

The man who'd spoken raised his free hand to push his baseball cap further to the back of his head. "For out-of-towners, anyways." He spat in the dirt.

"That's not very neighborly, is it?" The words tumbled from Jake's lips before he could bite them back. Both men stiffened visibly, and shifted their grip on their weapons. Jake kicked himself mentally. Him and his big mouth. "Okay, okay." He stood up straight, legs apart for balance, holding out both palms. He hoped his shirt hid the gun at his back sufficiently they hadn't noticed it. "I get it: you take care of your own." In a way, he did understand; with the situation being as it was, nobody could predict how long they'd have to make do with what they had until new supplies could be brought in. And until power was restored, they'd want gas for their generators as well as their trucks.

The men didn't move. Bending down, Jake dragged the damaged tire over, balancing it on its side on the edge of the truck bed and gesturing with his free hand at the shop. "I got a flat I want to fix. Sooner it gets done, sooner we'll be going." His hopes for finding a place to stay the night in Redfield had already evaporated; he doubted they'd receive any warmer welcome at a local motel or inn.

The two men exchanged a look. The guy with the baseball cap, who seemed to be in charge, jerked his head toward the workshop, where an elderly mechanic was now peering out at them. "Make it quick, then."

While the first man was giving Jake the okay to get the tire fixed, his companion had started walking around the truck and was peering inside. Jake tried to keep him in sight without being too obvious; he didn't want to leave Anna alone out here with these two. But other than asking her to accompany him to the workshop, he didn't have a choice—and the first guy was gesturing impatiently with his rifle for Jake to take the tire over to the mechanic. With a last, mistrustful glance backward, Jake started rolling it over the ground toward the workshop.

"Got a flat, huh?" the mechanic stated the obvious, chuckling and shaking his head. "Well, we'll see what we can do 'bout it."

Jake passed the tire over to the mechanic.

"Where you and the missus headed?" The leader of the two rednecks had followed Jake into the shop.

"Houston." He squinted across the man's shoulder, noticing with quiet relief that the second guy had finished his inspection of the truck and had simply taken up guard near the rear, leaning one elbow on the side of the truck bed he stared at them. Thankfully, he appeared not to be interesting in bothering Anna.

"Not Dallas?"

Jake pulled his attention back to the first man. "No."

"Good." The man spat into the dirt again. "Dallas's gone."

There was nothing Jake could say to that.

o0o


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Redfield was just an unpleasant memory by the time the sun had dipped fully below the horizon and true night began falling around them. Anna cleared her throat, breaking the silence in the car and startling Jake from scanning the surrounding fields for a decent camping spot. "You wanna drive through the night?" Clearly her thoughts were running in the same direction as his.

"Not on these roads." The unpaved backroads, unfamiliar to him and not in very good shape, proved plenty challenging in daylight. He wasn't going to chance getting another flat or hitting something in the darkness.

"Thought so." Anna shifted in her seat. During the day, the old bench had grown even lumpier under them. "And I suppose finding a motel is out?" From her tone, she'd already figured out the answer.

Jake swept her a quick glance to confirm his impression. The corners of her mouth were turned up wryly in the deepening gloom. "Yes."

She met his gaze. "So we sleep in the car?"

"'Fraid so." He again peered forward, still trying to figure out a good place to stop. "Unless you have a better idea?"

"Not really." Anna puffed out air. "I don't mind. In the summer, my sisters and I used to take my car and go to the beach on weekends. We'd watch the sun go down, hang out with the surfer boys, and spent the night in the car, huddled under a blanket." She laughed. "We always told my dad we were staying at a friend's house. If he'd ever found out―."

Jake snuck another quick look at her. Freddy had once or twice mentioned that Anna had sisters, but it struck him how little he knew her, beyond that she was his best friend's girlfriend. _Fiancée:_ Freddy had been so proud and happy, making her show off the ring he hadn't been able to afford.

"I never figured you for such a wild child," he admitted. She'd always come across to him as the practical and responsible one, the girl who kept Freddy grounded whenever he was embarking on his flights of fancy or heading for the latest crazy get-rich-quick scheme.

She let out a laugh. "I was. In fact, that's how I met Freddy." She was silent for so long that Jake didn't expect her to say anything else, until she went on, "He and a couple of his friends saved our butts one day, when these guys wouldn't leave us alone."

Jake made a non-committal noise, grinning inwardly; he could imagine how Freddy might've handled the matter.

"Anyway...," Anna's voice grew subdued, "I can deal with sleeping in the car if I have to."

Jake briefly let go of the wheel to touch her knee in silent sympathy. The change in her tone told him she was thinking about Freddy again. And Freddy was dead; nothing he said would change that.

Instead, he concentrated on finding a place where they could camp without being too exposed. The stars were already coming out when the beam of the headlamps revealed a grove of cottonwoods. "There," he pointed, as he slowed the truck. "Those trees will shield us from view."

He maneuvered the truck cautiously behind the cottonwoods' trunks, mindful of the uneven ground. Sitting in the cab, they ate a pitiful supper of stale airplane sandwiches with wilted lettuce, and shared a bag of M&Ms for dessert. After finishing the last chocolate pellet, Jake decided they should swap out the spare tire for the repaired one. If he did it tonight, it'd save them time in the morning.

It was full dark by then and the thin moon provided little light. Anna held the flashlight while Jake worked. The bolts were far less trouble than before, and it didn't take him long to remove the spare and putting the patched-up one back on.

"Those guys weren't very welcoming, were they?" Anna commented idly.

Jake paused in tightening a bolt and glanced up at her. "No," he agreed. It was why he hadn't dared put on the patched tire as soon as it was fixed: the Redfielders might not have done them real harm, but he hadn't wanted to suffer their hostility any longer than necessary. They'd been afraid and armed, which was a dangerous combination at the best of times. "They wanted to protect their town," he added, giving the bolt a last twist. Why did he bother making excuses for the unfriendly treatment? "I guess people do in a crisis."

"Not everyone. Mrs Cramer wasn't like that." Anna shifted to his other side so she could more accurately aim the flashlight at the next bolt. "Neither are you."

Her words startled Jake into dropping the bolt. He scrabbled to snatch it up before it disappeared into the grassy blackness underneath the car. He swallowed a "Dammit," and peered up at her, his hand tight around the rescued bolt. "What?"

He couldn't make out her expression beyond the glare of the flashlight, but he could tell she was raising her shoulders from the way the beam danced.

"I know you'd rather have gone home than come with me." She paused. "What was the name of that town?"

He bent back toward the wheel to replace the last bolt. "Jericho." It came out a tad more curtly than he'd planned, as a sudden wave of homesickness surged through him: he wished he had even half an idea of what was going on there. _Dad will have everything under control, _he assured himself. Nothing ever seemed to faze his father, so Jericho was no doubt doing fine despite the chaos that had swept over the rest of the country.

"And I made a promise," he continued as he lowered the jack slowly until the car rested firmly on all four wheels. "To Freddy. And to you. I plan to keep those promises." Packing the jack and wrench away, he suggested quietly, changing the subject, "We should get some sleep."

Anna looked as if she wanted to say more. Something in his expression stopped her. She switched off the flashlight and crawled into the cab without speaking. Jake waited for his vision to adjust to the absence of the light, before unfolding one of the blankets from the plane and spreading it out in the back of the truck.

The cab door reopened and Anna stuck her head out. "What're you doing?"

"Making myself a bed." He hopped up the truck bed and draped a corner of the blanket over the spare tire; it'd make for a hard pillow, but...

"Jake..." Anna uttered an amused little laugh. "Don't be stupid. There's plenty of room in the cab."

Jake paused from arranging the blanket, twisting on his heel until he faced her. He quirked up the corner of his mouth. "No, there isn't."

"Okay." She dipped her head in acknowledgment, her lips twitching into a smile. "You're right, not plenty. But enough." Her expression grew earnest. "It's gonna get cold," she reminded him. "And it rained last night."

Jake fingered the blanket spread out on the steel floor. Her offer was tempting and she was right on both counts. In the cab, he'd be protected from the elements. "But―," he offered a final token protest.

"Come on." Her teeth flashed in the moonlight. "I promise I won't snore."

With a laugh of his own, Jake admitted defeat and jumped down from the back.

He regretted his decision less than five minutes later. The two of them were scrambling around on the uneven seat bench, trying to avoid loose springs digging painfully into various parts of their anatomy. Anna's elbow jabbed into his stomach. "Sorry," she muttered. "Just―."

At last, they were as comfortable as they could get in the cramped confines of the cab. Anna's body heat slowly seeped into Jake where she lay against him and he suspected he'd be grateful for it before morning came. The chill of night was already trying to creep in under the blankets and he tugged them tighter. Though neither the thin airliner blankets or the ratty old one from the motel in Vernon would provide much insulation from the cold.

"Oh! Did you see it?" Anna pointed at the starry sky visible through the windshield. "A falling star."

Jake squinted out into the dark, clear sky. The scraps of cloud cover were fuzzy streaks in the moonlight. Beyond, the faint glow of the Milky Way stretched across the expanse. He figured that the star Anna had seen―or rather, the meteor―had already burned itself out, because no matter how hard he searched, he didn't see any lights streaking across the sky—and that included the blinking lights of aircraft that were usually visible somewhere or other at any given time.

The realization that there were no planes flying, and its implications, brought a sour taste to his mouth, and he forced the thought away. "Now you can make a wish," he pointed out.

Anna was silent for a minute. "I wouldn't know where to start," she finally admitted. "Everything's so...," He sensed her roll a shoulder, "so messed up."

He snorted a wry laugh in sympathy. Less than a week ago, his biggest problem had been where to get the money to pay his rent. The problems he'd had then seemed so insignificant now.

They lapsed back into silence. Jake's right arm started cramping up from the awkward position he was holding it in, but he didn't know where else to put it. The ache grew steadily worse, until he caved and let his hand rest lightly on Anna's hip. She didn't object, and Jake gradually relaxed.

He thought she'd already fallen asleep when she spoke again, her voice a soft whisper. "We were planning to buy out Gary. Freddy and I."

"Gary?" Jake shifted to ease the weight on his left hip.

"Uh-huh. He owns the beach club." She clutched the blanket tighter around her. "I―I think that's why Freddy got involved with those people. To get the money." She sniffled, and Jake could tell from the sound of her voice that she was crying. "He never was very patient."

"I'm sorry." Jake raised his hand, intending to brush away the tears he could see glistening on her cheek but stopping short, unsure how she'd react. A lump was stuck in his own throat, and he cleared it before repeating, "I'm so sorry."

Anna didn't answer.

o0o

Jake woke chilled and sore, with a soft, warm body nestled against his chest, and a faint scent of shampoo in his nose. Where was he? It took him a confused second or two to―. Hissing, he yanked his arms away from Anna as if she was on fire.

His face flushed with shame. During the night, he must've drawn her closer to him, until they'd ended up snuggled together. He swallowed hard; he seriously doubted _this_ was what Freddy had meant when he'd asked Jake to take care of Anna.

Clamping down on the niggling voice that wanted to point out it had been _nice_, Jake became aware his right leg had gone numb under Anna's weight, and also that he badly needed to pee. Anna was fast asleep, and he struggled to shift out from under her without waking her. The attempt was doomed to failure, of course: as soon as he moved, she mumbled incoherently and her eyes fluttered open, peering up at him sleepily.

"Um, morning." Jake offered her a lopsided smile.

Anna blinked rapidly, and Jake could tell the exact instant that she became aware of the position they were in. She gasped out a startled, "Oh!" and blushed as she pushed up and away from him, scooting over to one side of the bench. "Sorry." She ran a hand through her hair, fingers working to get the tangles out and hid her confusion by rummaging through her purse for a comb.

"'s Kay." Jake was glad she hadn't woken before he had; if she knew where his hands had been five minutes ago... Wanting to give her―and himself―time to regain their composure, he clambered stiffly from the truck. He stretched cramped muscles, wincing as his spine popped. The sun was barely peeping over the eastern horizon, and the morning air was cold enough to bring him fully awake. He walked deeper into the grove and relieved himself. Returning to the truck, he headed around to the back check on the fixed-up tire. He was pleased to see the repairs had held during the night. For all the town's hostility, Redfield's mechanic had done a good job.

They breakfasted on emergency ratings and water from the plane, finishing off with the last of the apples they'd brought from Vernon. Anna buried the cores with care in the shade among the tree roots.

"Someday they could grow into apple trees." She wiped her fingers on her jeans and gave an embarrassed shrug at the amused quirk on Jake's lips. She must have gotten the story of Johnny Appleseed as a kid as well.

They were on the road a minute later.

As on the previous day, they didn't see any people. In fact, it was as if everyone had simply left: the ranches close to the road gave every impression they'd been abandoned: doors and windows closed tight, curtains drawn. They met no other traffic, either, though once in a while they spotted a faint dust plume on the horizon: evidence another vehicle was driving along the unpaved backroads.

Around mid-morning, they drove by a small farmhouse set right next to the track. It was a rundown building, with a clutter of ramshackle barns and sheds surrounding it, paint peeling from the clapboard. A gaggle of children were playing in the yard. As soon as the Ford trundled into sight, the kids dropped their toys, dashed for the house and slammed the door shut behind them.

"Hello and good day to you, too," Anna muttered, using sarcasm to hide her concern as she turned her head to look at the toys lying forgotten in the yard.

"They're afraid." Jake decided not to tell her about the gun barrel tip peeking out from one of the upstairs windows or the way it tracked their progress until the farm was out of sight in the rear view mirror.

When the sun was close to being as high as it would get, Jake pulled over for a lunch break. While he munched on one of the dry crackers, he got out the map. They'd not long before passed under I-20, which headed east to Dallas, and he wanted to plot out the rest of their journey that lay ahead. He spread the map out on the flat surface of the truck bed, and leaned over it, holding it flat against the warm wind blowing across the flat fields.

"Where are we?" Anna asked, sidling up beside him.

"Here." Jake tapped a location several miles to the southeast of Abilene.

"Oh." It was all she said, letting her silence speak as loudly as any words could have: _we didn't get very far._

He had to agree with her: with all the stumbling blocks fate kept throwing in their path—downed airplanes, flat tires, being forced on to the backroads— they were making poor progress. At their current pace, it'd take three or four days to reach Houston―a journey, which under normal circumstances should have taken no more than a day.

And they both knew her parents would be frantic to hear from her. She'd attempted to call home from a pay phone in Vernon before they left, and Jake had tried the phone at the garage in Redfield while the mechanic had been repairing their tire. Both times, the lines had been dead.

"Perhaps we should use the highway after all," he muttered, half to himself and half to Anna. He traced a line on the map with his finger: if they took a left at the next intersection, they should reach the highway in an hour or so.

"I thought you said it's not safe?"

"It isn't." Jake refolded the map. "Neither is running out of food or gas in these parts." He vaguely waved the map to point out the flat land surrounding them. They weren't at risk of running out of either, not yet; they had the rations he gotten from the plane and there was the spare can of gas in the back of the truck that he hadn't had to get out yet. But if the journey did take three days or longer, it would be a different matter. So it was a toss-up between increased speed or continued security.

"Think I should drive for a while?"

Jake tilted his head to look at Anna. Truth be told, wrestling the ancient truck for hours on end was tiring. Once they were back on the highway, she could maybe―but she hadn't sounded very eager. More like she thought she was obliged to offer. And Jake was finally starting to learn the old car's idiosyncrasies.

"No, that's alright. I'm okay." He grinned at her as he climbed back into the cab. "Used to drive trucks for a living, remember?"

She smiled back faintly and didn't object as he started the engine and put the truck in gear. As they pulled away, he thought he detected a touch of relief in her expression.

o0o

They did indeed make faster progress once they got to the highway. Jake was just beginning to think they would reach Houston in a day or two when his hopes were dashed by the sight of another bad car crash ahead. A large trailer truck had lost control and scissored, its wheels leaving lengthy skid marks of burned rubber on the asphalt. It was blocking the entire road, which wasn't very wide to begin with. Jake reluctantly let up off the gas.

Anna started awake as the Ford slowed. With nothing to do but stare at the landscape, and not much to say, she'd been dozing. "Crap," she muttered as she saw the blockade. Wiping a palm over her face, she leaned forward for a better view of the trailer. "Do we have to go back?"

"Don't think so." Jake surveyed the scene and did a few mental calculations. "We should be able to squeeze by." It would be a tight fit, but if he steered onto the shoulder, they could make it. He just wasn't entirely convinced that he should try. The truck had left such a neat little gap... Shaking off his unease, he maneuvered the car toward the narrow opening. Turning back would add a few dozen miles at least to their journey and he'd rather not do that unless he absolutely had to. Certainly not over a prickling sensation in his neck based on nothing concrete.

But as soon as he'd navigated the Ford into the gap, and there was no other way out except forward, he discovered he should have listened to his instincts.

"Jake!" Anna's fear-filled voice ripped his attention away from keeping the pickup out of the ditch that ran dangerously close to the truck's left. He cursed silently. Three guys had materialized in the road up ahead, aiming handguns at them. The mirror showed him a glimpse of a pair of men walking up from the rear, carrying shotguns. _Dammit_! They'd been hiding in the tall grass in the fields or behind the huge wheels of the trailer.

"Stop the car!" One of the men in front―the gang's leader―shouted, gesturing with his gun to underscore his order.

Jake's foot inched up off the gas, hesitantly obeying the order. What could he do against four or five guns? All he had was a damned flare gun, and, besides, that was locked in the glove compartment.

At the same time, he took note that the leader was eying the old Ford with a disapproving scowl, and the two men on either side were leering at Anna. If he did as he was told, getting robbed of their possessions would be the least of their problems.

Keeping his heel hovering lightly on the gas pedal, he let the car roll on slowly. Drawing his left leg up to hold the wheel steady with his knee, he raised his hands as a sign of submission, nodding at the leader, indicating he'd comply. At the same time, he tracked the truck's progress out of the corner of his eye. They were almost past the trailer. He prayed the car had enough momentum to get through the gap.

"I said, stop the goddamn car!" The leader straightened his arm and aimed his weapon directly at Jake's head.

"Jake...?" Anna whispered a warning.

Jake swallowed. If he'd misjudged the distance... If he'd gotten it wrong... _Now...!_

"Hold on!" he shouted at Anna as he stomped the gas pedal down as far as it would go, for an instant wondering whether he'd kick right through the rusty floor of the old truck. The Ford's engine screeched in protest and, for an eternal heartbeat, threatened to stall and die. _Please, God..._

Then the engine caught and the pickup sprang forward. Jake grappled with the steering wheel as the left tires bucked on the soft dirt of the shoulder, before the tires got a firm grip on the asphalt and the car picked up speed, barreling toward the gang's leader. Barely in time, the man dove out of the way, too slow or too surprised to fire his gun. Jake caught a glimpse of open-mouthed astonishment on the faces of the other men. He reckoned they hadn't had many opportunities to practice their skill at highway robbery yet.

Then the Ford was past them and the robbers were falling away in the rear-view mirror. Jake kept the accelerator to the floor, praying the truck's engine wouldn't give out.

Something _zinged_ against the Ford's cab. "Get down!" Jake shouted at Anna, waving frantically for her to duck as low as she could.

"What was that?" she yelped. "Are they shooting at us?"

"Yes." Jake instinctively ducked his head between his shoulders.

A second shot went wide, and Jake tightened his grip on the steering wheel as they raced along the empty highway.

"Jake?" In spite of Jake telling her to stay down, Anna was on her knees on the seat, twisted around and with her head raised just enough to peer over the top of the bench and out the back window.

"I see them." A quick glance at the rear view mirror had showed Jake that the robbers had jumped into a pickup of their own and were giving chase. The car―a black monster sporting lots of chrome and oversized tires—must've been parked behind the trailer. "Dammit." The old, trundling Ford would be no match for a modern truck, especially not on a road as straight as this.

Knowing how useless it was, he nevertheless tried to push the gas pedal further to the floor But the Ford had nothing left to give, and the black pickup was closing fast. Jake desperately tried to devise a plan.

The flare gun!

"Anna! Get the gun."

Anna wriggled around and delved in the glove box for the flare gun. She shoved the bright orange weapon into Jake's outstretched hand. He checked quickly that it was loaded with a flare.

"Take the wheel." Jake twisted in his seat until he could lean out the side window for a clean shot. Anna grabbed for the steering wheel, but the car careened wildly as it wrenched itself out of her control. One wheel hit the shoulder, throwing up dirt and clots of yellow grass. Anna cried out in fear. Then they bounced out of the dirt and back onto the road.

Jake jerked back, nearly losing the gun, but managing to drop it in his lap at the last second. He tightened both hands around the wheel and wheezed out a long breath as the car steadied. Another quick glance in the mirror told him the near-accident had cost them precious time and the black truck was looming ever closer.

"Jake, give me the gun."

"What?" Jake darted Anna a startled glance, before focusing his gaze on the mirror again. The black pickup was growing bigger with each second.

"The gun. Please. You can't shoot and drive at the same time."

She was right. He'd discovered that the hard way. "Do you know―?"

"Yes." She sounded sure of herself. "My dad taught me."

He didn't have to think twice: he gave her the gun. "It's a single shot, so you have one chance."

"Alright." She climbed onto her knees again, twisting her upper body out of the window. A second bullet struck the truck, _clanging_ against the metal and Jake winced. If one of those shots hit Anna―.

From his peripheral vision, he saw her try to take aim, but the road was rough and, with their current breakneck speed, they felt every bump and pothole. The gun was bouncing in her grip and she couldn't keep it steady. She pulled back inside, blowing out a frustrated puff of air. She scrubbed a hand across her face. "You've got to stop the car."

"What?" Jake blurted again.

"I can hit them. I know I can. But not while we're driving."

"Anna..." If they stopped and she missed, they'd never get another chance to make their escape.

"Please, Jake. Stop the car."

He hesitated only a moment longer. Risking another peek in the mirror, he saw the other truck had gained even more distance on them. "Okay. Okay!" It was all or nothing. "Be ready," he warned her.

Anna braced herself with one hand on the door handle, the other holding the flare gun in a firm grip. "Do it."

Jake hit the brakes as hard as he could, pumping them to avoid locking up and sending them into a spin. The tires squealed, and he prayed none of them would blow.

As soon as they came to a stop, Anna tumbled out of the door. She took up position in the middle of the road proving she hadn't been lying: her dad had taught her well. He hoped her aim would be as good as her firing stance.

Another bullet zipped past, and he saw her flinch. God, she was horribly exposed, such easy target for those bastards as she stood out there on the road. _Get the hell on with it! _he wanted to shout.

It took forever for Anna to pull the trigger. At last, the gun made a popping noise. Anna was back in the car almost before the flare slammed into the other truck and Jake had them moving already by the time it exploded in a flash of bright light.

"Dear Lord..." Anna was gaping out of the back window. Jake flicked his eyes up to the mirror, and couldn't help let out a low whistle of appreciation for her skill: she'd hit the car smack in its monstrous grill and the engine had caught fire from the flare's explosion: there was a second _bang _that Jake could hear even at this distance, and a gout of flame shot out from underneath the hood.

"Wow..." he breathed, focusing on where he was going and on getting away from the scene as fast as possible. "Good job."

Anna didn't acknowledge him and Jake risked a glance in her direction. She'd gone ashen and was holding on to the flare gun so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Anna?"

She didn't react to him at all. Jake clenched his jaw, and as soon as he was reasonably convinced their pursuers had given up the chase, he pulled over. "Anna?" Reaching out, he closed his hands over hers, unbending her fingers from the gun so he could take it from her. She was shaking. To be honest, his own hands weren't entirely steady, either. "Hey," he tried again.

"I―I got it...," she stammered. "Those men..." She swallowed visibly. "I think I k―k—killed―."

"No, please don't say that." Jake hated that she'd been the one who'd had to take the shot. By rights, it should've been him. Wouldn't've been the first time, either.

He put the gun back in the dash and locked it. He took her hands again, holding them between his. They were cold to the touch. "Whatever happened to them, they brought this on themselves," he reminded her. "Not you. Understand?"

How often had he heard the same excuses after bystanders had gotten killed in Iraq? More times than he could count. This time, at least, it was true.

Anna slowly turned toward him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, her breathing unsteady.

"It wasn't you." Jake reached out with one hand to cup her cheek, dipping his head so he could more easily catch and hold her gaze. "You did great. You saved our lives." A violent shudder ran through her, and he drew her closer, wrapping an arm around her until she stopped trembling. Once she was calmer, he reluctantly let go, put the car in gear and drove on at a normal pace.

Though he kept one eye on the rear view mirror, there was no further sign of pursuit. To be honest, he wasn't much surprised, not after seeing the pickup's engine blow up so spectacularly. In all likelihood, Anna's single shot had taken the robbers out of commission for a good while, if not for good, making the road a little bit safer for everyone.

He let go of the wheel with one hand to reach over and squeeze her fingers. He was proud of her.

A sudden rattle under the hood disturbed the quiet. "What the—?" Jake's heart jumped into his throat at the unexpected noise. Then the engine let out a final shriek and died abruptly. They were coasting, rolling on momentum alone and quickly losing speed.

"What's happening?" Anna's voice was scratchy.

"Dunno." Jake allowed the car to roll to a complete stop. He popped the hood and got out. Judging by the horrible noise, it couldn't be good, and he dreaded what he'd find inside.

One look confirmed his worst fears: the engine had seized up. But how...? He'd checked the oil that morning, before they set out. The Ford was old, granted, but it wouldn't go through its supply that quickly, would it?

Dropping to his knees, he squinted into the gloom under the chassis. A glistening drop of thick, black oil dripped onto the road even as he watched. It verified what he had already suspected: they'd been losing oil for a while, until it was all gone and the engine had run dry. With the dashboard warning lights broken, he'd had no idea that the oil levels were dropping as fast as they were until it was too late.

He pushed back to his feet, punching the side of the car with a closed fist. "Dammit!" He curled both hands around the edge of the truck's bed, leaning forward and groaning in frustration.

"Jake?" Anna climbed out and stood next to the open passenger door, hugging herself.

He raised his head slowly to meet her gaze across the bed of the truck. "Something's damaged the oil pan. Could've been a bullet, or just a rock."

"Can you fix it?"

Jake puffed up his cheeks and exhaled. "The leak? Probably." He pushed away from the truck. "But the oil's all gone, and the engine's seized up." He shook his head. "Can't fix that with my bare hands, or those simple tools we have." And if, by some miracle, he could have, they wouldn't get far without replacing the oil they'd lost. "I'm sorry, it's my fault." He should've stopped the minute they were safe from pursuit, to check the car over for damage. He couldn't be certain a bullet had caused the leak, but it didn't stop him from wanting to punch the truck again from sheer frustration.

"Don't blame yourself." Anna walked around the car to join him. "What's done is done." She scanned the flat, empty landscape, looking lost. "What do we do now?"

Jake sighed. There was only one thing they could do. "We walk." In his head, he tried to calculate how far they'd already traveled, and how far they had to go. "We collect what we can carry, and go on foot."

Anna's mouth fell open and she squeaked, "To _Houston_?"

"If you've got a better idea, I'd like to hear it." Anna recoiled, and Jake instantly regretted his words. None of this was her fault. "Sorry. I don't know what else we can do."

Anna gnawed her lip. She patted the truck. "At least it got us this far."

The quaver in her voice betrayed how fake her cheerfulness was. Jake barked a humorless laugh. They'd traveled more miles today than they had yesterday, but they still weren't even halfway to Houston. Which meant that―unless they could find another mode of transport in one of the towns along the way―they were faced with a two hundred mile hike. Two weeks of walking, at least.

"We should get going. We don't know―." He gestured in the direction they'd come from. Anna shivered visibly, before ducking into her side of the truck to get her belongings.

They packed as many of their possessions into their bags as they could carry. Jake collected what remained of their food into one of the airline blankets and flung the makeshift knapsack over his shoulder. Shouldering it with his duffel bag was unwieldy. In hindsight, he wished he'd thought to get them backpacks in Vernon. Then again, he couldn't have foreseen the need; he'd been expecting to drive to Houston, not hike halfway across the state.

With a final look inside the truck to satisfy himself they'd gotten everything, they set out, abandoning the Ford on the road where it had died: one more wreck to clutter the Texan highways. The bottom edge of the sun was clipping the western horizon, and they'd have to start looking for a place to spend the night soon. But Jake wanted to get away from the truck first. It was too conspicuous, sitting out on the open highway, and he didn't entirely trust that the road gang was no longer pursuing them. And there might be others, as well. No, better be safe than sorry.

An hour passed. The sun disappeared completely, and dusk lay heavy on the ground as a cloud front moved in from the north, blotting out the stars. Jake began to despair of ever finding a safe spot to bunk in. The narrow track they were on—they'd left the highway at the first intersection they came to—stretched out as far as the eye could see, and the landscape surrounding them was flat and bare, with only the occasional thorny bush to break the monotony.

Jake was almost ready to suggest sleeping in one of the numerous gullies the criss-crossed the hard ground―at least it'd keep them out of sight and provide shelter from the night wind―when he spotted a trio of what he suspected were grain silos on the horizon, their square shapes barely discernible in the encroaching darkness.

"Let's make for those." He pointed them out to Anna. "We can spend the night there."

She muttered an agreement, hoisting her bag higher onto her shoulder, and slogged on. He wished he could offer to take her bag from her, but his own load was too heavy and awkward, and he knew better than to wear himself out in the first ten miles when they had so far to go. With a sigh filled with frustration, he followed her, his larger strides allowing him to catch up quickly.

The silos were further than Jake had reckoned and it took them twenty minutes to reach them, by which time it was full dark. Jake was grateful they'd brought the flashlights from the plane along, or they'd have stumbled right past the silos in the darkness. Luckily they weren't far out in the fields, and a rutted track led up to them from the main road. Judging by the rust stains on the steel walls and the weeds that had sprouted up in the ruts in the access track, they hadn't been used for some time. Good; they didn't need to worry about a disgruntled farmer chasing them off his property come morning.

Anna let her bag fall into the dirt with a tired sigh. She flopped down next to it, shoulders slumped. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her face.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." Anna slowly lifted her head. Jake could barely make out her features in the even deeper shadows among the silos, but he thought she gave him a wan smile. "It's just been a very long day."

He gave her a long, searching stare, but she bent her head again and started rummaging through her bag. He dropped his own bags in the coarse grass and untied the blanket holding their supplies, scowling at the meager fare it contained.

A sudden flicker of light and dancing shadows startled him from inspecting the food. Anna had lit one of the candle stubs Mrs. Cramer had given them. The flame wavered in the soft evening breeze.

She pointed at the flashlight he was still holding. "You can switch that off, I think."

"Be careful with that candle," Jake warned. They did need to spare the flashlight's battery, but he didn't want to accidentally start a wildfire. The earth might be damp from the rains that had fallen two nights earlier, but the yellowed grass was dry and brittle.

Holding the candle gingerly between her fingers, Anna peered around for a safe spot to put it. She finally chose one of the concrete blocks that supported the legs of the silos. Jake watched with approval as she wiped the surface clean of the dry debris that had collected there, and let a couple drops of wax fall onto the concrete before settling the candle in the hardening blob. At least they wouldn't risk the candle falling over and setting fire to the whole field.

The tiny flame didn't provide much light, but it was enough to see by in the darkness. Once his vision had gotten used to the intense gloom, Jake offered Anna a packet of their crackers and a candy bar. She rolled her eyes at him, and he grimaced in sympathy. She nibbled on the crackers anyway.

Swallowing, she yawned. The sight triggered a similar yawn in Jake, which he failed to hide behind his hand.

Anna chuckled quietly. "Guess we should get some sleep, huh?"

"I guess so." Jake tossed a last piece of cracker into his mouth. "It _has_ been a long day."

Leaving Anna to carefully pack up what little remained of their food, Jake spread a blanket out under one of the bulky silos, fumbling around on hands and knees in the three or four feet of crawl space under the silo's base. He chose a patch of ground that was overgrown with tall grass, hoping it'd make for a softer mattress.

It had grown chilly while they ate their supper, and he shivered. "It's gonna get cold tonight," he warned Anna. "You best put on an extra sweater if you brought one." While the days were still warm, the bite of autumn was starting to make itself known at night.

"Good idea." Carrying her overnight bag with her, Anna disappeared behind one of the silos for a short while. Jake listened to the rustling sounds that suggested she was not only putting on extra clothes but also brushing her teeth. Her routine complete, she came back and crawled underneath the silo. She wrapped one of the airplane blankets tightly around her. After finishing his own routine, Jake blew out the candle and joined her in the small, protected space, trying to make himself comfortable on the uneven ground.

His thoughts drifted back to the night before, to how they'd slept in the cab of the truck. It had been a tight and uncomfortable fit, but it had provided shelter from the elements. Dammit, if only he hadn't been such a fool and had checked on the truck earlier...

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"For what?" Anna raised herself onto her elbows.

"Dragging you into this mess, I guess." Jake wasn't sure if he was merely talking about losing the truck, or about everything: Freddy's death and the mad flight from San Diego with Ravenwood on their tail. If he hadn't tried to talk Freddy out of the job, if he'd done what Hicks had wanted them to do, Anna'd be safe and warm in her own bed in San Diego instead of sleeping under an abandoned grain silo like she was a drifter.

"Isn't your fault." He could see her shape, faintly outlined against the lighter sky beyond the shadows of the silo, as she shifted around and lay back.

He drew in a breath. The air smelled of grass and dirt. "I should've checked the car for―."

"Maybe." Anna sat back up. While he couldn't make out her face, he sensed she was looking at him. "But you didn't tell those guys to go rob people. You didn't make those bombs go off." She shivered. "And you didn't kill Freddy."

"No, but―," he began.

"Then don't say you're sorry." She took a fresh gulp of air. "Jake, none of that is your fault. It... it just happened, okay?"

He was too tired to argue. "Okay."

"Good." She lay down and curled in on herself, resting one hand beneath her cheek. "Good night."

Jake uttered a wry chuckle. "G'night." He folded one arm behind his head for a pillow. Silence descended over the silos, the soft swishing of the wind through the grass the only sound. Jake started to fall asleep.

"Jake?" Anna's voice tugged him back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"It's cold..."

He could hear the chatter in her voice. The wind had picked up, reaching them even beneath the grain silo. And despite the spare shirt he'd put on, the cold was already creeping through the thin airplane blankets to chill him as well. "Hey, come here." Reaching out, his fingers closed on her elbow. He pulled lightly, underscoring his words. She quickly scooted closer, and Jake wrapped the blankets around both of them, while she nestled against his chest. He could feel the difference instantly, as her body heat seeped into him. The contented murmur she uttered suggested the heat transfer was working in both directions. A minute later, her breathing evened out into a slow, regular pattern.

Jake stared up at the sliver of sky he could see beyond their hiding place, the stars hidden behind the clouds. He tried hard not to feel guilty he was holding Freddy's woman in his arms for a second night. Rationally, sharing body heat was the best solution if they didn't want to freeze to death, but he was afraid of waking up again in another intimate embrace, with his nose buried in her hair.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

o0o


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Two days later, in the middle of nowhere, they came across a gas station. It sat at a crossroads where a small paved back-road intersected with an even narrower dirt track. Jake's heart leaped with relief when he spotted it through the rain. The miserable cold drizzle had started falling half an hour earlier from lead-colored clouds and already had them chilled to the bone. Jake had been dreading having to spend the night out in the open. While they'd lucked out the first night with the silos, they hadn't found anything beyond a thorny bush at the rim of a dry gully on the second day. Neither would've served well in a steady drizzle.

As they trudged closer to the gas station, Jake's relief quickly turned sour. The place was abandoned; the two elderly pumps were coated with a layer of dust that was turning into sticky mud in the rain, and a sign in the window of the small convenience store beyond the pumps announced it was closed.

Jake tried the door anyway. It was locked tight. Planting his hands either side of his face, he peered through the window into the gloom. He could spot no movement inside; with the power out and traffic virtually non-existent, the shop's attendant must've reached the conclusion there was no business to be done and gone home.

One glance at Anna, who was shivering uncontrollably inside her thin coat, her hair plastered against her face, confirmed Jake's decision about what to do next. "Step back," he warned, as he turned his face away and smashed in the door's window with his elbow. Carefully brushing the shards of glass away, he reached in and unlocked the door. He felt a mild pang of guilt at the damage, but the time for scruples over such issues had long since gone.

He went in first, looking around in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. The vending machines and the coolers were as dead as anything else that ran on electricity, of course. And they'd be out of the rain, but he didn't see any way for them to dry off and warm up. He wasn't gonna complain, though: the place was dry and the shelves were full, so they could stock up on supplies before setting out on the next part of their journey.

He went in search of something to use to board up the broken window, leaving Anna to set up 'camp' in the aisle at back of the store, in front of the defunct coolers and away from the puddle the rain was making on the tiles nearer the door. Discovering a stack of cardboard storage boxes in a back room, he tore one of the boxes up and taped a large piece of cardboard over the broken window. The rain would soak through eventually, but for the time being, it'd keep the wet and the wind out of the store.

With the window taken care of, he foraged among the stacks for something to eat, returning to where Anna was laying out their blankets with his arms full of salty snacks, chocolate bars and half-liter bottles of warm soda. It'd make a filling―if perhaps not very healthy―meal.

He dropped his hoard onto the blanket and sank to his knees. "Hey, dinner's served."

Anna couldn't muster more than a wan smile in reply. Jake was glad to see she did manage to eat a couple handfuls of potato chips, though; she hadn't complained once, but she was still suffering from bouts of nausea, and the last thing he needed was for her to get sick for real.

By the time they were done eating, it had grown fully dark outside. They'd burned the last of their candles the night before, and their eyes quickly grew used to the gloom inside. Exhausted as they were from several full days of hiking, they didn't need many words to agree they'd best get to sleep. Jake took the empty wrappers and dumped them in a trash can he'd spotted next to the door, while Anna shook the crumbs off their makeshift bed. Fumbling in the dark, they climbed under the blankets, trying to get comfortable. Jake felt oddly alone, with Anna wrapped in her own blanket three feet away. The last couple nights, they'd been sharing body heat to keep out the wind and cold, and he'd grown used her presence.

Giving himself a mental shake, Jake pushed the feeling away. That would only lead down a dangerous path he wasn't willing to travel. Doing his best to ignore the hardness of the tiles under him, he promised himself that when he woke up, he'd investigate the small store for whatever they could use. As sheer exhaustion overtook him, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, soothed by the sound of the dripping rain.

o0o

A shrill ringing in Jake's ears brought him to sit bolt upright, his heart pounding against his ribs. He blinked at his surroundings, staring in bewilderment at the bottles of motor oil lined up at eye level.

_Gas station store_, his brain supplied sluggishly. That explained the strange view. But what was the noise that had woken him? At Jake's side, Anna was also stirring awake. Otherwise, the room was quiet. The rain front had passed in the night and sunlight was streaming through the front windows, slowly warming the place up.

Had he simply dreamed the sound?

"Did you―?" Anna asked sleepily.

The ringing that had woken Jake hammered through the quiet store again, cutting abruptly through her question. He flung off his blanket and sprang to his feet, wide awake now.

"That sounded like a phone." Anna had also sat up.

"Yeah, it did." Jake stuffed his feet back into his boots. He swept his gaze around the store, not entirely sure where the sound had come from. As the phone rang a third time, it occurred to him it was in the most obvious place: mounted on the wall behind the register. Weaving through the stacks, he flung himself behind the counter and picked up the receiver. "H―Hello?"

The voice on the other end was clear and precise. _"Hello, this is Assistant Secretary Walsh from the Department of Homeland Security. Do not be alarmed. If you are safe, stay where you are. Do not attempt to leave. We will be in contact again shortly. Until then, know that help is on the way."_

"Who is it?" Anna's expression was filled with eager hope as she joined him at the counter, her hair tousled and her eyes puffy with sleep. Jake motioned her closer and angled the receiver so she could hear the message along with him.

_"Hello, this is Assistant Secretary Walsh from the Department of Homeland Security..."_

Jake hung up after they'd listened to the message a dozen times. There wasn't going to be anything else. Not at this point, at least.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Absently, Anna ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair, hiding a yawn behind her other hand.

"Beats me." Jake lifted the receiver again, hoping to get a dial tone. It wasn't there; instead the same message was being repeated. With a scowl, he set the receiver down and moved out from behind the counter. He wasn't surprised he couldn't dial out, but it didn't mean he wasn't disappointed. "Thank God, somebody's finally back in charge, by the sound of it. And―."

He broke off abruptly, staring. The coolers in the back of the store were lit and humming contentedly, motors running to keep their contents cold, as if nothing untoward had happened. He tilted his head: yup, the overhead lights were on too, the fluorescents buzzing softly. He hadn't noticed their glare against the sunlight streaming in, but now that he was aware the power had been restored, he grew conscious of the background noises from various electrical appliances around the store. In the wake of the utter silence of a world without electricity, the combined effect was positively loud.

"—and the power's back on," he finished, exchanging a happy smile with Anna as he gestured at the ceiling lights. These were all good signs, more indications that someone was working on fixing the situation.

"Yes, I can see―Oh!" Jake caught a glimpse of delight crossing Anna's face, before she scurried off between the shelves.

Curious as to what had her so excited, Jake followed her at a slower pace. As he walked by the large front window, he ducked his head to peek out and confirm they were still alone. "What is it?"

Anna stuck her head around the shelf she'd disappeared. She grinned. "You want coffee?"

"Coffee?" Jake's mouth watered at the thought. "God yes."

She smirked knowingly, and popped back out of sight. Those first weeks after he and Freddy had gotten back from Iraq and he'd attempted to drown his guilt in alcohol, she'd often brewed him coffee while she was closing up the bar. He'd never been able to tell if it was because she thought he was too wasted to get home okay or if she'd known he didn't _want_ to go home and be alone with his ghosts. At the time, he hadn't cared. But now―.

Swallowing a lump, he looked around for something to distract him while he listened to the quiet sound of her puttering around out of sight. He didn't want to think about those days, or what Anna must've made of him.

There was a small TV by the register, put there to entertain the clerk during slow hours. He switched it on; he didn't expect the image to show anything beyond static, so it came as a surprise that there was an actual―if rather snowy―picture.

"There's a signal?" The soft prattle of a percolator starting up formed the background to Anna's question.

"Looks like." Jake located the remote and flipped through the channels to see if he could find a broadcast that might tell him more. The same placeholder card, asking them to stand by, showed on every channel. He offered Anna a lopsided grin. "There's nothing on, though."

As far as jokes went, it wasn't that funny, but a small giggle burst out of her, and he was glad to see her spirits were lifting. The events of the last week had been hard on her. And not just the long miles of walking. Losing Freddy, having to leave home in a hurry, the bombs, running into that road gang...

Hard on him, too. He'd tried not to show it, not wanting to upset her even more, but nearly getting robbed—or worse—had shaken him up more than he wanted to admit. Even after he'd witnessed the looting in Vernon and the ransacked wrecks on the road, it wasn't easy to accept how fast law and order had been replaced with chaos and anarchy. Ever since they'd had to abandon their truck, he'd over fretted how he could keep Anna safe in this new world where thugs could be hiding around every corner and under every bush. With the power on and the authorities taking the reins again, the nightmare would hopefully soon be over.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee was beginning to fill the store. "Mmm, that smells great." Jake inhaled deeply, while fiddling with the controls on the TV set in an unsuccessful attempt to get the picture to clear up. The store was using an old-fashioned receiver, and the power outage must've misaligned the antenna. He couldn't remember if he'd seen an aerial on the roof, but to be honest, he hadn't exactly been looking for one.

"Here." Anna had unearthed a stack of travel mugs and she set one on the counter in front of him. Sweet-smelling steam wafted up. "Found these too." She set a box of peanut butter cups and a packet of sweet rolls next to the coffee. "Breakfast."

Jake stopped messing with the TV and lifted the mug to his face. He took a deep whiff before taking a sip. He peered at her over the rim of his cup. "Thank you."

She smiled. "You're welcome."

"Should you be drinking that?" Jake nodded at the mug Anna was holding between her hands.

She peered up at him. "Why―?" Her confusion cleared. "Oh, you mean, on account of the baby?"

"Yes." Jake tore open the plastic wrapper and sank his teeth into one of the peanut butter cups. It was sweet, almost too sweet, but it definitely tasted better than the stale crackers they'd subsisted on for the last few days. Still, he longed for something a touch heartier.

Anna gave him a reassuring nod. "It's okay, as long as I don't overdo it." Her smile changed into a rueful half-grin. "I guess that's not exactly a risk, huh?"

Jake huffed a laugh. "No, I guess not." He took a longer swallow of coffee and relished the bitter taste on his tongue.

Anna's smile faded as she set her mug on the counter and picked up a sweet roll. "To be honest, I am kinda worried about our diet." She laid her free hand on her stomach which was still as flat as ever, as far as Jake could tell. "The stuff we've been eating lately... It's not exactly healthy."

Jake swallowed the last of the peanut butter cup and thought about what she'd said. She was right; while they weren't starving, their diet was hardly what a doctors would advise. "We'll see if we can find a farmer who's willing to sell us some of his harvest," he promised her. "Fruit, or tomatoes." While he'd prefer to avoid contact with others if they could, he didn't know what else to suggest; they'd finished off their apples a few days ago, and he was grateful they had anything to eat at all. But the gas station obviously catered to long-distance travelers and the local kids. While it was well-stocked with candy and snack food and soda, it had no fresh produce or vegetables. "And perhaps get you some vitamins," he added. "I think I saw a shelf of medicines." There should be vitamins among the diet pills and painkillers, shouldn't there?

"That'd be good." Anna's tone didn't sound any less doubtful and she had yet to take a bite from the roll she held. She sipped from her coffee again.

Jake narrowed his eyes as he studied her from under his lashes, not wanting her to notice his concern. In all likelihood, it was the morning sickness; she probably simply wasn't feeling too well.

The realization did help him reach a decision he only now grew conscious he'd been considering in the back of his mind ever since he'd heard Secretary Walsh's voice over the phone. "I'm thinking we should stay put for the day." He threw back the last swig of his coffee and set the empty mug down, licking his lips.

Anna rested her elbows on the counter. "Stay put?"

"We've been walking for two days straight. You should rest." Anna opened her mouth to protest, and Jake quickly continued, "Me, too. We both could do with a break." While he didn't mind the physical exertion, he wasn't sixteen anymore, and sleeping on the hard ground and lugging their bags for hours on end was making him feel it. "And it'll give us a chance to see what that―," he flapped a hand at the TV, which persisted in showing the same snowy placard, "―is all about."

Anna's eyes flicked in the direction of the screen, and he could see the inner debate reflected on her face. She wanted to get to Houston as fast as possible, but she was as curious about what the government had to tell them as he was. "Who knows," he added, as a final enticement, "could be the phone will start working properly, and you can call home."

"You really think so?" Her eyes shone with naked hope.

"They fixed the power, didn't they?"

She chewed her bottom lip. "Okay. You're right. We'll stay here for the day. But we go on in the morning?"

"Yes." And if Walsh's news wasn't entirely positive and they were still faced with a lengthy trek to Houston in the morning, at least a day of rest would do them both good. Anna hadn't mentioned she was tired once, these past two days, but the forced march must be taking its toll on her, too. Sticking around would also give him a chance to thoroughly search the store for whatever else they could use.

Also, with the power back on, the owner might come check on the store, and with luck, he and Anna might hitch a ride. Assuming―Jake glanced at the crumpled candy wrappers and crumbs left over from breakfast―the owner didn't chase them off for looting first.

Anna gathered up their mugs and carried them back to the percolator, while Jake's grin faded as he gathered up the wrappers. What if nobody came? If life never went back to normal? Never mind; he'd worry about that another time. For now, he had a store to explore and a TV channel to monitor.

After dumping the trash into the can, Jake took another look at the TV. Nothing had changed. Shaking his head, he checked the TV's sound was on high, so he'd be alerted to any squeak that came out of it, and started his inspection of the area behind the register in earnest.

In the second drawer he pulled out from under the counter, he struck gold: a handgun resting on top of a sheaf of old receipts. Whistling softly in pleased surprise at the sight of it, he gingerly lifted it out for a closer look. It was a Ruger P89 9mm. Would hold fifteen rounds in the clip, if he wasn't mistaken, and definitely a more effective deterrent than the flare gun. Releasing the latch, he let the magazine slide out. He clucked his tongue in annoyance: it was empty. After checking there wasn't a bullet in the chamber either, he laid the gun down next to the register and began digging through the remaining drawers. If he couldn't find any ammunition, then the Ruger would be about as effective as throwing a rock as far as self-defense went.

Deep in the back of the bottom drawer, his fingers closed on a square cardboard box. "Ha!" He let out a small cry of triumph as he dragged the heavy box out in the open and confirmed it was full of fresh rounds. He set the box beside the gun, planning to check the weapon over carefully before loading it. But the find cheered him more than even the power being restored or the reassuring words of Assistant Secretary Walsh had done.

Which reminded him... He lifted the phone's receiver to check again for a dial tone. Nope. Nothing except the recording. He listened briefly to the cool, measured words of Walsh to confirm it was the exact same message, before putting the receiver back in its cradle. He'd try later.

He pondered the rest of the store, surveying the neat shelves as he tried to make up his mind where to continue his reconnaissance.

"Anna?"

Her muffled response came from behind the stacks. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna take a look around outside." The sunlight beckoned him and he could go through the store later. "Wanna come?" Fresh air would do her good.

She didn't reply right away. "No, thanks."

"Okay." Better not to push. He rounded the counter and sauntered to the door. The soggy cardboard covering the broken window was drying out quickly in the sun's heat. A strip of tape on one of the corners had come loose and was dangling. Jake peeled it off; he'd have to fix that if they were going to spend a second night in the store. "I won't go far. Holler if you need me."

The sunlight outside was brighter than the fluorescents in the store and stung Jake's eyes. He blinked rapidly as he adjusted to the glare. He squinted around, for the first time taking a proper look at the place they'd ended up at. The gas station was similar to hundreds in the country: a pair of pumps; oil stains on the concrete; a flagpole flying the American flag; a station for drivers to check the air pressure in their tires.

A tumbleweed rolled by the pump island, chased onward by a puff of wind, and Jake watched it head on across the road. It was the silence that struck him the hardest: the chirp of crickets in the grass and the song of unseen birds serving to underscore it. The lights might be on, the coolers running and Homeland Security urging them to stay put, but it was pretty clear that the situation was far from normal.

He jogged to the center of the crossroads and slowly swiveled a full circle to scan in all four directions, shielding his eyes with his hand as he stared into the sun. All he saw were straight-running, endless, sandy roads and bare fields shimmering under the morning sun. It promised to be a warm day, perhaps the last day of summer. Tilting his head back, he instinctively checked the sky. It was blue, with a small scattering of tiny white patches that would billow into clouds during the day. Otherwise, it was empty. He chuckled wryly; subconsciously, he'd been searching for contrails or a spark of sunlight glinting off of an aircraft. He'd never been fully aware of how _normal_ planes going by overhead had always been.

Turning his back on the crossroads, he returned to the flat-roofed gas station store. Not holding out much hope he'd discover anything other than more flat grassland on the far side of the building, he walked around the corner. He discovered a ladder screwed into the back wall, its rusty rungs leading up to the roof. An idea struck: if he climbed up, he might be able to see further, and perhaps spot a field of crops he could raid for vegetables. Tomatoes or squash, or maybe sweet potatoes. Although he had no idea how they'd cook those.

Well, he'd worry about that once he'd found something. For now, he had other concerns. Grabbing hold of a rung, he tested it. It felt sturdy enough.

A minute later, he was hoisting himself up over the edge of the roof. The view from up there was similar to the one from the ground: dusty roads and dustier grass stretching to the horizon. Except to the east... Jake scrunched his eyes into slits. He detected a smudge of green that might be a vegetable field far, far away. Three miles, at least. Would it be worth checking out? It was too far for him to tell what was growing there and if it wasn't anything edible, he'd have wasted his energy for no gain.

He shelved the idea for the moment. The direction of the sun wasn't helping with making out what was in the field; he'd try again in a couple hours, after the sun had moved on. He might have a better chance, then, of figuring out if his eyes were playing tricks on him or not.

As he aimed for the ladder, he picked out the TV's antenna screwed to a pole on the corner of the roof. Perhaps he could fix the bad reception, since he was on the roof anyway.

He walked over the front edge of the roof and peered down. "Anna?" He'd need someone to tell him if moving the antenna was making the image clearer or fuzzier. There was no response to his call. He tried again. "Anna!" As before, no answer. He tried her name a third time, louder, and still received no reply. He frowned; she should be able to hear him through the broken window, shouldn't she?

Hurrying back to the ladder, he quickly climbed down and trotted around to the front. The tiny bell jingled as he shut the door behind him and scanned the place. The store seemed empty and his heart started thumping against his ribs, visions of her passed out on the floor, or worse, assaulting him. "Anna?" He raced toward the back, rounding the stacks so fast he nearly lost his balance. The blankets were where they'd left them, as were their bags. But no Anna. Where was she?

He was drawing breath to shout her name once more, when he heard her voice drifting out from the back room. He exhaled, the tension flowing out of him along with the air. She was singing to herself, her voice muted by the door. That was why she hadn't heard him call.

Put-out at his own unwarranted panic―the events of the past days had obviously set him more on edge than he'd realized―Jake opened the door. "Anna, I could use your help with―Oh!" To his consternation, she had stripped down to her underwear, a pile of clothes lying on the tiled floor at her feet. He gulped in embarrassment, quickly averting his eyes to look anywhere except at her as his cheeks heated up. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't―."

Talking to the tiles was too weird, though. His gaze involuntarily flicked up at her briefly. She'd snatched up a shirt to cover herself with, but didn't appear too upset at the way he'd waltzed in on her. "Uh, what _are_ you doing?"

"Laundry." There was a hint of laughter in her tone, which gave Jake the courage to dart her another quick peek. Holding up the shirt with one hand, she was gesturing with the other towards a sink filled with soapy water. "There's hot water, and I found detergent. And since we're staying... I thought it'd be a good idea to wash a few things."

"Oh." Jake's mind had gone blank and he couldn't come up with a better reply. How could he, with the afterimage of tanned, smooth skin and black lacy underthings barely covering her burned in his brain.

"I, um," a note of uncertainty crept into her tone, "I took yours too. Hope that's okay?"

"What?" Jake's head shot up. It was only then he noted the shirt she was using to hide behind was one of his. "No, you shouldn't―that's not―." He'd taken a step into the room to snatch the shirt away from her before he caught himself. He stopped. "You don't have to do that. I can do it myself." He didn't want her to tire herself for no good reason.

"It's no trouble. But, um," she gave him a wry smile, "I'd like to get on with it while the water's warm. So, unless you wanted me for something, maybe you could...?" She dipped her head at the door.

"What... Oh, yes, of course. No, it can wait." Feeling his face burning afresh, Jake fled from the room and shut the door behind him. He puffed up his cheeks, exhaling slowly and scrubbed his hands over his face, noticing they were trembling. _Dammit, Jake,_ he told himself. _Get a grip._ This wasn't the first time he'd seen a girl in her underwear, so why had it gotten him so flustered? Because this was Anna, he answered his own question, who'd been his best friend's fiancée.

He snatched a bottle of cold water from one of the coolers, holding it to his face while he tried to banish the images etched onto his mind. He unscrewed the bottle and took a deep gulp. Dammit, he should've knocked.

o0o

Anna was as thorough at laundry as she had been at tending bar in San Diego. She even went as far as to make Jake exchange the shirt he was wearing for a wrinkled but clean one. He frowned as he put it on: it was still damp.

"Sorry." She smiled sheepishly as she caught his grimace. "I held it under the hand dryer in the bathroom. Not very effective, huh?"

He snorted a laugh at that―she certainly was resourceful. "No problem. It'll dry out soon enough."

Next, she had him string a rope from the store to the flag pole on the other side of the parking lot, so she could hang out the rest of their wet clothes, the sun and the breeze quickly drying them.

While Anna was busy at the sink, Jake used the rest of the morning to clean and oil the Ruger, sacrificing a couple of rounds and empty beer bottles from the stock room for target practice. Once he was satisfied he'd figured out how the gun handled and how to improve his accuracy with the weapon, he'd ransacked the store's supplies.

That had turned up a second treasure: a small transistor radio sitting on a shelf next to the register. After he'd put in fresh batteries, it proved to be in good working order, although every channel was broadcasting the same pre-recorded voice speaking the same pre-recorded words as the phone. He switched it off after a few minutes to avoiding running down the batteries and put it with the rest of the supplies he'd gathered: food, spare batteries, flashlights―whatever else they could find a use for.

They wouldn't be able to take everything he'd collected, so they'd need to prioritize later, but next to the Ruger and the radio, their best discovery had been an old backpack Anna had found in one of the closets. They'd no idea who'd left it there, but a number of patches with the flags of foreign countries sewn onto the canvas spoke of its previous owner's adventurous nature. Despite being well-worn and frayed in places, it'd help immensely with carrying their provisions comfortably.

As the hours ticked away, Jake kept one eye out for visitors and the other on the television screen. But the owner of the gas station never showed—and neither did anyone else—while the television kept on displaying the same old image, if a little less snowy after he'd messed with the aerial on the roof. And every time he picked up the phone, he was treated to the same recording, telling them to sit tight. Getting a working phone out of the authorities was not to be expected at this point, it seemed, nor any idea how long it would take for the promised help to arrive. Jake reckoned they'd be best off continuing to head for Houston the next morning and trying to call Anna's parents whenever they came across a pay phone.

By late afternoon, he'd climbed the ladder to the roof a second time. The sun was inching toward the horizon and the shadows were lengthening, and the faraway field was as hard to make out as before. Still not sure what was growing on it, Jake decided to set out for it anyway. Anna would be okay on her own, with a loaded gun for protection and the skill to use it, should the need arise. "I won't be long," he promised her as he got ready, taking the flare gun for himself.

"Okay." She was busy collecting their dried clothes off the line, frowning at how stiff the jeans had gotten without softener. "Be careful."

He grinned. "Will do."

o0o

Jake neither saw nor heard a living soul during the two hours it took him to hike out to the field and back. It was the edge of dusk and the lights were on in the store as he pushed open the door and walked back in. Anna emerged from between the shelves at the jingle of the door bell, clutching the gun in one hand.

"Good, you're back." She relaxed visibly.

Jake's brow creased in concern. "Everything okay?" Perhaps something had happened during his absence to spook her.

She licked her lips and gave a small shrug. "I'm just a little jumpy, I guess."

Jake chuckled wryly. "It's been a weird week."

She snorted in agreement. "You find anything?" She looked meaningfully at the heavy burlap sack Jake was carrying.

"Yup." He upended the sack on the counter by the register, shaking out a jumble of dirt-covered carrots. They'd been ready for harvesting, and he'd gotten the sack from a mound of similar bags that were apparently meant for packing the produce in.

Anna laughed at the heap of orange roots and green stalks. "Jake, what are we gonna do with all those?"

"Eat them, what else?" He indicated the TV with a nod. "Any change?"

"What? No..." Anna picked up one of the carrots, brushing of the dirt clinging to it. She studied the rest of the pile. "All of them? Tonight? Jake, there's at least—."

"No, not tonight." Jake huffed a laugh. "We'll take what we don't finish with us. They'll hold for a while, and won't squash." Her expression fell. "And hey," he tried, "carrots are good for your health."

"I guess." She didn't smile back, merely traced a finger through the clumps of dirt on the counter, avoiding meeting his eyes.

Jake's own smile withered. "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing's changed, has it?" Anna brushed the soil off her fingertips. "I tried the phone while you were gone, but it's that same stupid message." She finally lifted her gaze up to Jake's. "Nobody's coming for us."

"Not if we stay here, no, I don't think so." If anyone was going to come, they would've shown up already. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, dropping his hand just shy of touching her. "We'll be fine. We've got ourselves decent supplies: we've got food, flashlights, blankets..." He looked over meaningfully to where she'd been folding and repacking their belongings, and forced his lips into a smile. "Clean clothes..."

Anna let out a sound that landed somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "And carrots."

Jake laughed, for real this time. "Yes, and carrots." Without thinking, he pulled her close and dropped a kiss in her hair. Anna held on to him as he tried to step away again, her fingers bunching into his shirt. He could feel her trembling, and he couldn't bring himself to deny her the support she needed. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her awkwardly until she was ready.

At last she sniffled and drew back. "Sorry." She flailed a hand. "I guess I'm a little... emotional." She began to stuff the carrots back into the sack. "These won't scrub themselves."

Jake took the carrots from her. "I can do that. You take it easy, 'kay?"

Jake washed the vegetables thoroughly and spread them out to dry before he packed them away. Gathering up two handfuls for dinner, he took them into the main store. Anna had collected herself while he'd been dealing with the carrots, and was laying paper plates and soda cans on the counter. She smiled shyly at him. Suspecting she was embarrassed about her outburst, Jake decided he'd best not mention it.

Raw carrots with cheese puffs and re-cooled soda made for a tastier dinner than he'd have ever expected; afterwards, he was full for the first time in days. By the time he'd wrapped up the rest of the carrots, night had fallen. They should finish packing their stuff and turn in soon if they wanted to move out in the morning.

"Jake...!" Something in Anna's quiet exclamation caused Jake to drop the vegetables and whirl around, at the same time wondering where she'd left the Ruger. Red spots showed on her cheeks as she pointed at the TV. Jake's own heart rate jumped as he saw the screen had changed to show the familiar image of a government lectern, the American flag standing behind it to the left.

Sucking in a surprised breath, Jake walked over to join Anna in front of the TV, their focus riveted on the screen. Surely the authorities were finally about to explain what had happened, and what the government was doing about it. But the time stretched on, seconds ticking into minutes, and still they waited for a spokesperson to climb up onto the platform. Jake fidgeted impatiently, shuffling from one foot to the other. They'd been watching the alert all day; were they supposed to watch the empty lectern all night?

"When―?" Anna started to ask the same question Jake was silently asking himself. Before she could get the second word out, the store was abruptly plunged into darkness. Both of them gasped as everything went dead at the same instant: the TV screen, the overhead lights, the coolers. The silence left in the wake of the blackout was palpable.

"That's all?" Anna cleared her throat, her words drifting toward Jake. "That's what we get for watching that stupid picture all day?" The tremor in her voice belied the sarcasm she'd been aiming for.

Jake's vision struggled to adjust to the sudden blackness surrounding them as he heard Anna scramble for something. A beat later, she'd found it, the flashlight they'd put near the register, and switched it on.

"Dunno. I guess so." Jake made his reply absently, blinking against the beam of light, as he considered this latest turn of events. Anna was right about one thing: it was far too coincidental to believe that, after waiting a whole day for the picture on the TV to change, a renewed blackout would strike at the exact same instant something was finally about to happen. And the way the machines had gone off wasn't right, either: the abruptness with which everything had stopped working was weird. He'd gone through enough power failures to know there was always a tiny amount of juice left in the cables, so it took the larger appliances a second or two to peter out. But this? This had been blink-of-an-eye stillness. Considering what had happened to Dallas last week, he had an unwelcome hunch about what had caused it.

He prayed he'd gotten it wrong.

But how could he determine if he was right or not? The flashlight was still working, for which he was grateful, but it was a simple device and he didn't think it provided enough evidence to invalidate his suspicion. And without electricity, nothing would work, no matter the reason―.

"The radio!" He jerked away from Anna and dashed across to their bags, tripping over them in the gloom. Dropping to his knees, he started poking through the backpack by touch. Where the heck was it?

"Jake, what are you doing?" Anna had followed him with the light.

He glanced up at her, shielding his eyes from the flashlight's beam and she angled it downward to shine at her feet so he could make out her face. She was watching him with confusion, and perhaps a touch of fear. "The radio," he asked, "where did you put it?"

"In here." Anna knelt beside him, and pulled the radio out of a side compartment. "I thought it'd be safer there..."

"Thanks." Jake took it from her and switched it on. Nothing happened; the radio emitted no sound whatsoever, not even static. Jake thumbed through the frequencies. No matter what he did, the radio remained as dead as every other appliance in the store. He opened the lid, took out the batteries and put them back in, jiggling them. The result was the same: nothing. "Dammit." He should try a fresh set of batteries, straight from their packaging, and he planned do so in a minute.

He also already knew what he was going to discover when he did: it wasn't the batteries that had died.

"Jake? What is it?" Fear was definitely starting to get an upper hand in Anna's tone.

"I'm not sure, but..." Weird shadows played over her features as the flashlight shook in her grip. He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid this isn't just an ordinary power failure. I think this was an EMP."

"A what?"

"An electromagnetic pulse." Jake set the radio down and scratched his neck. "Fries anything with a circuit board."

"I don't understand..."

"What it means," Jake hated himself for telling her this, but she needed to know, "is that another nuke went off."

o0o


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Shortly after the sun rose on the eastern horizon as an orange ball, Jake and Anna gathered up their meager possessions and set out. Despite the comforts of sleeping with a full belly and shelter from the elements, Jake had spent a restless night―the implications of new explosions had weighed too heavily on his mind to allow him to relax―and he'd been awake and up since the first hint of the new day started filtering through the store windows. He reckoned Anna hadn't had slept well either: she'd been tossing restlessly under her blankets during the night, murmuring incomprehensibly as she dreamed.

Jake hadn't been able to resist testing the various electrical appliances a final time, including the portable radio―as if he expected them to have been magically restored during the night. Of course the results had been as disheartening as the previous evening. With regret, Jake left the radio behind. They had plenty to carry already; there was no need to add dead weight.

While the day started out sunny, with the pinks and oranges of sunrise slowly fading to a pale blue sky, clouds had moved in by midday, painting the sky an ashen, featureless gray. The dull light threw the land in a bleak cast, matching Jake's mood as he plodded on under the heavy backpack. Perhaps they should have gone with Harper and Robin after all. If he could've predicted everything that would happen after he and Anna left Vernon... Sure, Harper's car had been stolen, and at the time it had seemed like a very bad idea. But Jake doubted that, with the whole country in such turmoil, Ravenwood or the Feds were much interested in him or Anna any longer, while local law enforcement definitely had more pressing concerns to deal with than one stolen old car. He huffed a wry snort. Damned fine job those local boys were making of it, too, with that road gang he and Anna had run into near Abilene.

Finally, the small dirt track they'd been hiking south on since they left the gas station intersected with a bigger road. Where the two roads met, a signpost stood, wooden arms pointing in all four directions to indicate various communities. Anna paused at the foot of the post and tilted her head to read the town names, before unfolding the map and squinting at it.

Jake shrugged off the heavy backpack and dropped it on on the ground. He rolled his stiff shoulders and uncapped his bottle of water to take a swallow. He was actually glad the sun was hidden behind the cloud cover; it kept the temperatures in the moderate mid-sixties, which made for pleasant hiking weather. He peered up at the featureless sky. He only hoped it wouldn't start raining again.

Screwing the cap back onto his bottle, he joined Anna in studying the map. It wasn't as easy to use for navigating on foot as he would've liked, since it was aimed at car travel, and the tiny tracks they'd been using were as often as not unmarked. They were relying on the occasional signpost, such as the current one, to determine their location and on the sun for general direction—which was a downside to the heavy cloud cover: while it kept it from getting too hot, it also didn't make navigating a route south any easier.

"Brownwood...? Brownwood...?" Anna muttered one of the town names printed on the sign while trailing a finger over the map, attempting to locate it.

"There," Jake pointed out. The word was printed in bigger letters than the tiniest community names.

"Ah... Thanks." Using the medium-sized town as her starting point, Anna folded the map so she'd have a better overview of the remainder of their route. "If we go south, along here," she waved at the bigger road, "we'll eventually get to Austin." She let the hand holding the map fall. "I'd expect we can get a ride to Houston there."

"Hm, I don't think we should go to Austin." Palm stretched out, Jake wordlessly asked her for the map so he could take a closer look. "I was thinking we should go south-east, make for Fort Hood." He showed her the large gray splotch that was the military post.

Anna frowned dubiously. "Why?"

Jake refolded the map. "Cause Austin's not safe." He was aware he was constantly harping on about the security issue and he hoped she wasn't beginning to think he was being too cautious―or, worse, a paranoid wimp. He also knew he was right; he could feel it in his gut. "No fresh food being trucked in? No electricity...?" He shook his head. "I reckon cities like Austin will be hit a lot harder than those smaller communities we've passed." He didn't remind her how smaller towns such as Vernon or Redfield had barely been managing to hold on to what was considered civilized behavior. He pictured how a large city would react: hundreds of thousands of people crammed together, bereft of the normal constant stream of provisions and modern amenities. "The army's used to dealing with crisis situations. We might be able to get help there." Command structure and discipline would've kept the military up and running, after all, despite multiple attacks on US soil. Jake stuffed the map back into a side pocket. "At the very least, we'll get the latest news."

"I guess you're right." Anna's tone remained doubtful, but she didn't argue. Fort Hood was practically on their route to Houston, anyway, and they wouldn't have to make a significant detour to reach it. Jake hoisted the backpack back onto his shoulders, involuntarily grunting beneath the weight.

"You sure you don't want me to carry any of that?"

Jake shifted the backpack into a more comfortable position and took a step toward the road stretching to the south-east. "No, I'm good." Anna had her own share to carry―he'd put her in charge of their blankets and the medical supplies they'd taken from the store―and he didn't want to burden her with any of the heavier stuff.

They walked on for another hour, not speaking much, the steady activity of putting one foot in front of the other hypnotizing. They'd covered two or three miles, when the dull rumble of an engine brought Jake to full alert. An old, green pickup was lumbering up behind them. It wasn't going fast, but fast enough that a thin trail of quickly-settling dust followed in its wake, and it was near enough that Jake could make out the shape of the driver behind the wheel.

_Dammit_. He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd failed to hear the engine until it was too late to hide. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, closing on the Ruger's grip. He suspected Anna was the better shot of the two of them―the way she'd hit that robbers' truck spoke of a damned good eye―but he didn't think she'd be up to firing a real gun directly at people, so he'd held on to the Ruger and given her the flare gun to use as a last resort.

As the truck―a dented 1950's Chevrolet that looked more suited for a museum than a Texas backroad―came to a stuttering halt in front of them, Jake's grip tightened on the gun and he dragged it half out of his pocket, careful to keep it concealed from the truck's driver. Anna moved to stand closer to his left shoulder so she wouldn't hinder him pulling the weapon out. Apprehension oozed from her.

"Howdy, folks." The driver leaned into the passenger seat to hail them through the open window and Jake got a good look at the man, until then half-hidden beneath a large Stetson hat. Age had carved heavy lines into his face, which was tanned a deep brown from the sun. Grayish-white stubble covered his chin, and bushy brows sagged over friendly blue eyes. A quick look into the rust-speckled bed of the truck told Jake it was empty, reassuring him further that this particular stranger wasn't a threat.

"G'day." Jake accompanied his return greeting with a slight dip of his head.

"Whatcha folks doin' all the way out here? You kids okay?" The old man's gaze flicked from Jake to Anna and back. "'Cause I take it y'all ain't gone hikin' for the fun of it." He guffawed a brief laugh at his own joke, and Jake couldn't help offer a lopsided grin in response.

"No, our car broke down a couple days ago."

"Heh, lots of that been goin' on lately. Not my old Bess, she's still goin' steady." The guy chuckled and patted the steering wheel with an affectionate touch. The engine prattled on softly, making the entire truck vibrate ever so slightly, as if it was purring. "So, where's y'all headed?"

"We were thinking we'd go to Fort Hood," Jake said vaguely. Even if he no longer believed the old man was dangerous, he also didn't want to reveal too many details about their plans as of yet.

"Well, ain't that a stroke o' luck. I'mma goin' in that direction." The driver furnished them with a grin, revealing a set of teeth that were too even to be his own as he gestured broadly. "Hop on in, I can give you a ride for a spell, leastways."

Jake sought Anna's gaze for a wordless consultation. She'd also relaxed at the stranger's convivial demeanor, and she offered him a slight shrug that said, _Why not?_

"Alright. Thanks." Reaching a decision, Jake let the backpack slip from his shoulders, his bones creaking as the weight lifted from them, and hoisted it into the back of the truck, before helping Anna stow her bags as well. The driver had already unlatched the passenger door and Jake pulled it open wider, gesturing for Anna to get in.

She made no move to climb up into the cab, offering him a small shake. "You go first."

For an instant, Jake was puzzled, and then he figured it out, mentally kicking himself for being so slow. "Right. Of course." Less opportunity for the old man to get fresh with her if Jake was there to act as a buffer between them. Not that Jake really expected the guy to make that kind of trouble, but obviously Anna had experience hitching rides with strangers.

The old man, unaware of their exchange, waited patiently until they were settled in and Anna had pulled the door closed. It was a tight fit in the narrow cab, and the air smelled faintly musty, of old sweat and tobacco, despite the breeze blowing in through the open windows. Jake was glad to be off his feet, and he wriggled to rub the spot where the straps of the heavy backpack had dug into his shoulders.

The driver hummed a tuneless song as he navigated carefully on along the dirt track. "Ernest Jackson." He took his left hand off the wheel and extended it across his body Jake. "Call me Ernie." He chuckled. "Only ones call me Ernest are my late wife, bless her, and the tax man."

Maneuvering awkwardly in the narrow cab, Jake accepted the left-handed handshake. "Jake. And this is Anna."

"Hi." Anna offered Ernie a quick wiggle of her fingers, leaning forward to peer past Jake.

"Nice to meet y'all." Ernie hummed softly while the old Chevy ambled steadily onward, never going faster than twenty miles an hour. "That was sumthin', the other day, wasn't it?" He took his eyes from the road briefly to peer sideways at Jake.

Jake started. "Um, what?"

"The clouds. You saw 'em, right? Goddamned mushrooms. Beggin' yer pardon, Miss." The last was directed at Anna, presumably for the language. "Ne'er thought I'd get to see that again. Not since those tests they did in the 1950s." He spat out of his window. "Those poor folk. Ne'er stood a chance."

As Ernie's words fell away, the cab descended into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the labored grumble of the ancient engine. Ernie's words―clouds, plural―confirmed the gossip Jake had heard in Vernon: other cities beside Dallas had been hit. There wasn't anything anyone could say to that; it was simply too overwhelming to consider. Next to Jake, Anna shifted her position; he could feel the heat of her body through his jeans where her leg was pressed against his.

They rumbled on for another mile. "Do you know what happened last night?" Anna asked.

"Last night?" Ernie bent forward and tilted his head sideways so he could see past Jake. "What, with everythin' gettin' fried and all, you mean? No, ain't got a clue." Settling back in his seat, he shrugged, shifting gear as the old truck struggled up a slight incline in the landscape. "Fact, that's why I bothered goin' into town. But it's the same all over, and nobody knows why." He concentrated on driving for a short while before continuing, "I got me my own generator, so the blackout didn't bother me as much as some folk. I was startin' to run low on propane, though. But the electric came on yesterday morn'." They'd reached the top of the incline, and Ernie shifted gear again. "Went off again last night, of course, and nothin's working now. TV, radio, even the generator's _kaput_." He made a noise. "Took the beers from the fridge and put 'em in the cellar; they'll keep cool there a while."

"Are you sure everything's on the fritz?" Jake asked.

"Uh-huh." One-handed, Ernie wadded a ball of chewing tobacco into his mouth. "Including that Japanese tincan Eddy insisted on buying me. No friggin' clue what that car's gotta do with the electric." He shoved the tobacco into his cheek."Eddy's my son. He thinks I'm an old fool, for keepin' Bess here up and runnin'. Bet he ain't feelin' so smug now." He chuckled again, wryly this time.

Jake puffed out his cheeks as Ernie confirmed his worst fears. He'd kept hoping that he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion; the radio could've stopped working for other reasons and, with no power, he hadn't been able to confirm the coolers and the TV set in the store had truly been fried. Considering what Ernie had told them, though, there was no doubt in his mind. Ernie might not have a clue why his modern car stopped working, but Jake did: the onboard computer chips would be vulnerable to a burst of electromagnetic radiation. And Ernie's generator might be a newer model, too; they also came equipped with all kinds of electronics to control them.

"Jake thinks it was an EMP." Anna leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Jake could feel her tremble.

Ernie darted another look in her direction. "EMP?"

"Electromagnetic pulse," Jake said. "It's―."

Ernie inclined his head, letting Jake know no further explanation was needed. Mulling it over for a minute, he spat out of the window. "Ain't thought of that yet, but yeah, that's as good an explanation as any. Makes you wonder, though..." His voice trailed off.

The rest of the journey passed without much of note. Ernie kept up a running commentary, blathering on about the land they were lumbering through and the families who owned it, their prize bulls and famous cows, and who'd married whose cousin. Since he didn't seem to expect a response, Jake stayed silent, letting Ernie's words wash over him while his thoughts drifted. He hmm'ed noncommittally whenever the occasion seemed to require it, which apparently satisfied Ernie enough to keep talking. Beside Jake, Anna was gazing out of the window, not speaking, and he could only guess at what was going on in her head.

"A'ight, this is me." Ernie steered off the road and stopped at the beginning of an unpaved driveway, where dry, yellowed grass divided deep ruts carved into the hard ground. A hundred yards or so further on, a small wooden house, the clapboard painted cream, sagged under the lead sky. "Home sweet home." He hesitated before turning in his seat until he could meet both Jake and Anna's eyes. His gaze darted from one to the other. "You're welcome to stay the night." He sounded anxiously hopeful as he made the offer, and Jake figured Ernie must be feeling lonely. From Ernie's rambling, Jake had learned he'd lived alone since his wife had died and his son had gone to San Antonio to join a large law firm, coming to visit once or twice a year to pester his father to sell the property and move to the city.

And it was a tempting offer; spending a night in a bed with a roof over their heads, in a place they were welcome and hadn't had to break into, appealed to Jake. However, though it was hard to tell with the clouds hiding the sun, it was barely mid-afternoon. They'd have several hours of daylight left and Anna would want to continue on as long as they could. He glanced sideways, silently asking her opinion.

"Let's go on," Anna confirmed softly.

"You won't make Killeen today," Ernie warned, clearly struggling to hide his disappointment they weren't staying. "It's forty miles or thereabouts."

"That's okay, we'll find a place for the night." Jake slid across the bench to follow Anna out of the truck. He lifted her bags from the back and passed them to her. His own backpack was heavier than he remembered.

"Walk on for four miles, until you get to a T-section." Ernie had crawled out of the cab too, and was pointing down the road with a gnarled finger. "Take a left, to Rumley. Shortest route on foot."

"Will do." Jake wriggled the backpack into place, biting down a groan as the straps tore at his already sore shoulders. "Thanks for the ride."

"Yes, thank you, Ernie." Anna briefly pressed the old man's hand between hers, and he almost seemed shy as he awarded her a pleased grin.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Ernie pinned Jake with a stern look. "You take care o' her now, you hear?" Not waiting for Jake's reply, he clambered back into the cab and hit the horn in farewell. Jake raised a hand to wave as the Chevy lumbered up the track toward the house.

Heaving a sigh, Jake turned toward the road, trying to shift the backpack into a more comfortable position "Come on, let's go."

"Jake, what the hell is happening?" Anna fell into step beside him.

He reckoned Ernie's tale was weighing on her, but he had no answers for her. "Let's hope they can tell us at Fort Hood," was all he could suggest. And with that, they lapsed into silence and resumed the monotony of walking, until it grew too dark to continue.

o0o

Two days of brisk hiking later, after averaging twenty miles a day, with Anna's impatience driving them onward, Jake had suggested an early stop. It wasn't dusk yet, but they'd stumbled across a barn that was empty of livestock and offered a hayloft filled with fresh, sweet-smelling straw. Anna had been reluctant at first but had agreed once Jake told her about the loft. It confirmed his impression: while she was eager to get home, she was as tired as she looked. The way she'd curled up without a word in the blankets, spread into a soft, warm nest in the straw, as soon as they'd had a dinner of carrots and cookies, spoke volumes.

Listening to Anna's soft breathing slowing and deepening as she drifted off into sleep, Jake repacked the few supplies she'd been carrying into his rucksack. The pack had grown less heavy with every meal they ate, and he was better equipped to carry the load than Anna. Finishing up, he pulled the straps of the pack tight and crawled under his own blanket. It wasn't fully dark yet, but he was exhausted and glad to be able to lie down and close his eyes. The straw pricked him through his clothes, but compared to the cold, hard ground on which they'd spend the last few nights, it was as soft as a feather bed, and as warm. His last thought before sleep took him was that, if all went as planned, they should reach Fort Hood in the morning.

He woke several hours later, still tired. The night was pitch black and he pricked up his ears, not moving, unsure what had woken him. The scent of hay, undercut with the faint lingering aroma of cow dung, reminded him they were in a barn, a half dozen miles from the army base they were aiming for. The world outside seemed entirely silent. Reassured that they were in no immediate danger, he snuggled deeper under his blanket.

Then Anna whimpered, bringing Jake fully awake, his heart jumping in his throat.

"Anna?" He kept his voice low.

Instead of answering him, she moaned softly, "No... no..."

Jake slowly let the air out of his lungs, relieved that she was simply having a nightmare and not, as he'd first thought, in pain.

Another whimper—and then she sucked in a shuddering gasp and cried out, "Freddy...!"

Jake scrambled around for the flashlight that he'd secured in the straw near his head. He flicked it on as soon as his fingers closed on the hard plastic, and reached over for Anna, a shapeless form under the dark blue airline blanket. He gently shook her. "Anna? Hey, wake up."

He shook her a second time, with a bit more force. Her eyes popped open, the whites standing out in the dim glow of the flashlight. She blinked up at him blearily, the panic in her expression fading as she slowly focused on his face. "J―Jake?"

"Shh, it's alright. A bad dream, is all."

Next thing he knew, she'd hiccuped a sob and flung herself in his arms. Not ready to catch her, he nearly dropped the flashlight. "Jake..." She clung to him tightly, sobbing against his shoulder, the lingering memories of the nightmare apparently so bad that she'd given up trying to maintain the brave face she'd been showing him up until then. "God, Jake, I miss him so much..."

He recoiled at her words as if she'd slapped him. She never noticed, still holding on to him tightly, her hands bunched in his T-shirt. He awkwardly rubbed circles on her back with the palm of his free hand. "I know." His voice was hoarse.

He held her until her sobs subsided. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, sniffling. "Sorry 'bout that." She offered him a tremulous smile, fingers scrubbing in vain at the wet spot her tears had left on his shirt.

Jake laid the flashlight in the straw, angling the beam so he could see her face without blinding either of them. "You were having a nightmare...?" It was only half a question; he was afraid she would think he was prying.

She drew up her legs and folded her arms around her knees. "I was dreaming of that night, when Freddy... You know." She didn't explain further, only sniffed back another sob.

Further clarification wasn't necessary: Jake did know. In a way, it was as if it had happened in a different lifetime, when, in reality, it was barely over a week since Freddy had stumbled into Jake's apartment, bleeding like a pig and begging Jake to take care of Anna and his unborn baby. The memories were still fresh, when he let himself remember, and the pain sharp.

Anna had walked in moments later, before the paramedics Jake had called had arrived. He wished he could've spared her the sight of Freddy's lifeless body lying in a puddle of his own blood. He'd grabbed her and, afraid of Ravenwood and wanting to fulfill the promise he'd made his dying friend, he'd booked them on the first bus out of San Diego, never giving her a chance to say her goodbyes. And now, he didn't know what to tell her. _I'm sorry_ was so entirely insufficient. Especially since he felt responsible. What if he hadn't panicked at Hicks' visit? What if he hadn't convinced Freddy to cut and run...?

"I never wanted him to take that job." Anna peered up at him from under her lashes. Jake forced away his own bad memories, focusing on the woman in front of him, her face a pale blur in the glow of the flashlight. "You have to believe that."

Jake leaned forward to rest a hand on her wrist. "It's not your fault." He had to force the words past the lump in his throat. By the time she'd come to his apartment that day, pleading with him to go with Freddy and guilting him into saying yes, by bringing up Iraq after he'd refused, it had already been far too late for Freddy to pull out and tell Ravenwood no.

"I told him not to go, but he said he was doing it for me, and for the baby." Anna sat up straighter, placing one palm flat on her belly. Jake didn't think she was aware of doing it. She stared off into the darkness of the barn. "Because he wanted to take care of us. And now―." Her voice caught. "Jake, I'm scared. The whole world's gone insane, Freddy's dead, and I'm on my own with this baby..."

"Hey. Hey." Jake shifted in the straw until he could drape an arm around her shoulder. He resisted the urge to pull her to him. "Listen, you're not alone." He could feel her quiver. "I won't leave you, and in Houston you'll have your family to help. Okay?"

He sensed Anna's slight nod more than he saw it. She rested her head against his shoulder.

"Let's try to get back to sleep, all right?" Jake inched back down into the straw, pulling Anna with him. Gradually, her shaking grew less, until at last she went limp in his embrace and he could tell she'd drifted back to sleep. He fumbled with his free hand to drag the blankets back over them and switch off the flashlight, staring up at the invisible ceiling for a long time.

Anna's story had rekindled memories he'd prefer not to have tumbling around in his brain, and the mental turmoil kept him from catching sleep himself. His left arm went numb under Anna's weight, but at least she was sleeping soundly, no longer plagued by bad dreams. Afraid to wake her, he disengaged from her carefully, swallowing back a hiss as his hand prickled with the blood flowing through it again. He flexed his fingers a few times until the worst of the sting had faded.

The hayloft was suddenly too small, the wooden walls pressing in on him. He started down the ladder from the loft, forcing himself to go slow and test the rungs with his boot soles before letting them take his weight. Last thing he needed was to fall off a damned ladder and break his neck. Once safely on the barn floor, he inched toward the door, feeling his way carefully in the dark, resisting the urge to hurry as everything in him screamed at him to get out. Finally exiting the barn, he drew in a deep breath of cold night air. It smelled of rain.

Striding out into the open field, he stopped and hunkered down a dozen or so yards from the barn, hands dangling between his knees as he took several more deep breaths that made his lungs ache.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. How had it come to this? One moment, his greatest concern had been finding a job and paying his rent. The next, his best friend had been murdered, and he was smack in the middle of Texas, responsible for the woman sleeping in the straw behind him and her unborn child. It had seemed a simple promise: take Anna and the baby and get them on the bus.

But then he'd had a moment of panic and thought Ravenwood was tracking them, and he'd gone with her, and then everything had gone to hell, and... He swallowed the groan that bubbled up in his chest and smacked his palms against the dirt. He so wasn't the right person to handle this.

Puffing out his cheeks and releasing the air slowly in an attempt to get himself under control, he sat flat on the ground, drawing up his knees and folding his arms around them. Not wanting to think of Freddy, he tried to distract himself by thinking ahead to the practicalities that awaited them in the morning. They should reach the military base after a few hours' walking. By God, he really hoped they'd find the help there they were hoping for. They needed it―_he_ sure as hell did.

He didn't return to the barn until the first splatters of rain began to land wetly on his face. He was shivering as he crawled back under the blanket—it had been cold outside wearing nothing but a T-shirt—but the straw was warm and welcoming. And the time outside must've soothed his fears, because he was soon asleep, for once not waking until Anna did.

o0o

A seven-foot-tall chain link fence marked Fort Hood's perimeter, blocking the path they were on. The impassable barrier snaked left and right toward the horizon as far as Jake could see, the curled strands of barbed wire strung along the top protecting the base's grounds from interlopers. The fence was brand new: spotless metal gleaming dully under the slate-gray sky, and no creepers had crawled up the chain links yet.

"Now what do we do?" Anna groused. She'd been miserable ever since they'd woken up. Jake didn't know if it was on account of the bad dreams and memories or if she wasn't feeling okay because of the baby. He silently counted to ten. Best to pretend he didn't hear her sullen tone. He was barely holding on to his own temper as it was. She didn't deserve him snapping at her for something neither of them could do anything about.

"We follow the fence until we hit a gate." Without waiting for her reply, he put action to his words, heading south on the narrow dirt road that ran parallel to the fence. There was bound to be an entrance into the base somewhere. If necessary, they'd hike until they reached Killeen and the main gate. Soldiers would be there. People who, hopefully, had answers.

"Hmph." Behind him, Anna vented her unhappiness with a wordless sound, but soon her feet were catching up with his.

Jake wished he could do something to make her feel better, but without a clear idea of the reason for her current mood, he was afraid any attempt to lift her spirits would only make it worse. Could be she was simply exhausted and as sick of it all as he was; it had been an emotional week for both of them, filled with hard travel instead of the expected day's bus journey, and yet they still weren't much closer to their destination.

The rain that had been falling since they set out that morning wasn't helping, either. Starting with soft drizzle, it had grown steadily worse, and they were huddled in the bright yellow rain capes they'd brought from the gas station. Jake was grateful they'd found them. For all the capes were flimsy plastic sheets and meant for one-time use, they kept them relatively dry―if resembling a pair of drowned garden gnomes, he added silent to himself, attempting to find humor in their situation.

They plodded on through the rain for another hour or so. Under their feet, the road's surface gradually turned into slippery slush. It was raining even harder now, reaching the point he'd have liked to look for a place to wait out the storm. But the handful of farmers scattered around likely wouldn't welcome a pair of wet, bedraggled strangers showing up on their doorstep, and this part of Texas consisted of rolling grasslands dotted with low shrubs and bushes. There was no shelter to be had. They had no choice but to go on.

The world around them had stilled, nothing to be heard over the splatter of rain on plastic and their footfalls slapping in the mud. There wasn't the slightest puff of wind, and branches and leaves drooped beneath the weight of water trickling from them. Jake realized they hadn't seen a single vehicle, or a trace of one, since Ernest Jackson and his old Chevrolet. In fact, they hadn't seen anyone except a couple people on horseback further out in the fields the day before. They'd kept their distance and Jake wasn't sure if they'd even seen him and Anna.

The sight had given him pause, however, as the idea had struck him that perhaps they could find a pair of horses for them to ride. They had the end of Freddy's cash with them. Would it be all right for a woman in Anna's stage of pregnancy to ride? Jake wasn't sure. And when he'd put the question to Anna, she'd told him she'd never been on a horse, so Jake had dismissed the idea altogether, not wanting to risk the trek with an inexperienced rider. If he'd been alone, a horse would've offered a damned fine solution. But he wasn't alone.

In the dull stillness of the featureless landscape, a hulking vehicle coming out of a side road off the base was all the more noticeable, even through the misty rain. The truck angled toward them, closing the distance fast. Jake stopped in his tracks, blinking the water from his eyes and squinting into the gloom. Anna moved up to stand beside him. "I think they're soldiers." It was half question, half statement.

The vehicle―Jake recognized the boxy shape of a humvee―had been painted in the desert camouflage tan and browns Jake had grown used to in Iraq. It was odd to see those colors amid the Texas farmlands, but Fort Hood would be making do with whatever vehicles hadn't stopped running when the EMP hit. Military equipment in general would've been ruggedized against electromagnetic surges but not everything would've survived. And he reckoned that the military's response to the first attacks would have been to start pulling back as many troops as they could from overseas. These guys had probably been plucked out of the hot dusty desert of Iraq or Afghanistan less than a week ago.

The humvee pulled to a halt in a spray of mud and a handful of grim-faced soldiers poured out. "Sir, ma'am." The sergeant who addressed them was courteous. Nevertheless, Jake didn't miss the fact that the troops kept their distance and were holding their weapons with a tight, tense grip. A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the rain dripping onto his neck raced up his spine; the situation resembled, too closely for comfort, the paranoid atmosphere he recognized from his days in Iraq.

"Sergeant," Jake acknowledged.

"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to turn back to the highway and go 'round." The sergeant, an older NCO, didn't beat about the bush. "Road's closed."

"Please, sergeant." Anna shifted her bag and adjusted the rain cape, the material clinging damply to the jacket she had on underneath. "We need help."

"Sorry, ma'am." The soldier shook his head. He sounded genuinely remorseful. "There's a FEMA camp near Austin. You're best off going there. FEMA'll give you all the help you need."

"Austin?" Anna squeaked, horrified. "Sergeant, we―."

From his peripheral vision, Jake saw the other soldiers shift nervously, their boots squelching in the mud. They slowly moved further apart, until they were forming a half-circle around Jake, Anna and their sergeant, who had pulled up straight and was glaring down at her from under his helmet. "Austin, ma'am. Now, if you'd please go back."

While his words were respectful, the sergeant's tone brooked no further argument—but Jake had no intention of them going anywhere near Austin. It'd put them forty or fifty miles out of their way. He also didn't appreciate having to detour around Fort Hood. If they'd been driving, it wouldn't have mattered: a twenty mile diversion was less than an hour's drive. On foot, it'd add a full day to their travel time.

He cleared his throat, drawing the sergeant's attention away from Anna. "Sergeant, I believe there's a road turning off from this one a mile further on." He reached under the plastic coat, fumbling for the map stashed his backpack's side compartment. The sergeant went rigid, his hand moving to the butt of his gun. Jake froze. He drew his hand out from under the cape slowly and deliberately. The sergeant relaxed a fraction. Encouraged, Jake added, "If you could let us pass, we'll―."

"No can do, sir." The sergeant firmly shook his head. "Road's closed to _all_ traffic. Fort Hood's been cordoned off. Governor's orders." He looked them up and down. "You're already trespassing by being here."

Though the sergeant's demeanor wasn't threatening yet, the warning was unmistakable: Jake had better not argue that this track was supposed to be a public road, or that there hadn't been any warning signs telling him otherwise. The sergeant wouldn't appreciate it; the man was uptight enough as it was. He obviously wanted them to be gone and to stop being his problem.

And aggravating as it was, Jake had already accepted that they'd do as they were told. But not quite yet. He wanted answers first. "The governor?" That tidbit of information surprised Jake. Fort Hood didn't station National Guard, did it? This weathered sergeant most definitely wasn't a National Guardsman. And with the attacks happening in several states at the same time, Jake would have expected the president or the Pentagon to take full command of the nation's response.

"Governor Todd, yes." The sergeant gave him an odd, hard stare before releasing a breath. "You don't know." It was the first time the man showed any emotion beyond the polite yet firm order for them to turn back.

"Know what?" Jake asked warily, knowing he wasn't gonna like the sergeant's answer.

"The president's dead. Pentagon's gone." The sergeant spat angrily. "Hell, the whole of Washington DC's gone."

"Oh my God..." Anna whispered in horror. She clutched Jake's arm, her fingers digging into his flesh through the plastic cape and the material of his jacket.

Jake gaped at the sergeant, mouth open but lost for words. From the quiet way the man had proclaimed _you don't know_, Jake had expected the news to be bad, but this? This was―unable to wrap his mind around it, he kept trying to tell himself he'd heard wrong. Yet, everything made more sense: the newly flung-up fence protecting the base, the access road being _verboten_, the twitchiness of the patrolling soldiers.

"Sir..." The sergeant shifted his grip on his weapon, the momentary show of humanity hidden behind the stern mask of an army NCO again.

"Yeah...," Jake croaked. He coughed to clear his throat. "Yes, we're leaving." He shook Anna's fingers loose from his arm. "Come on, let's do as the sergeant tells us."

"But―," Anna tried to protest. Jake curled his fingers around her wrist and tugged on her arm, forcing her to take a step after him as he set off in the direction they'd come from.

"You heard the sergeant. We best get going." He didn't let up on his grip until he was convinced she'd keep on following him. He walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the soldiers and to reassure the sergeant they were obeying his orders and wouldn't be trying to sneak back as soon as the patrol had turned its back.

He could sense Anna's impatience and vexation growing with every step they took, though she managed to hold back from saying anything until they'd put a mile or so between themselves and the suspicious stares of the patrolmen. "Jake, why did you tell that sergeant we'd go back? That's miles and miles of extra walking. If you'd shown him the map―."

Jake stopped walking. "Didn't you see? They were scared. Scared and rattled." After the sergeant had told them what happened to DC, Jake had figured out what had bothered him about the soldiers from the start. They hadn't just been extremely cautious to the point of paranoia, like the troops in Iraq had been. No, they'd been terrified. And confused and frightened men holding machine guns were incredibly dangerous: he'd seen what that could lead to... knew what he'd done himself in Saffa. That was why he hadn't tried to convince the sergeant to allowed them through.

"So?"

Jake forced away the memories that threatened to surface, and concentrated on Anna. Did she really not understand, or did she simply not want to? "Anna, if we'd continued to argue..." It was time he stopped trying to protect her from the worst of the grim realities they faced. "I think they would've taken a shot at us."

Her brows climbed up, her eyes going round with shock. "They wouldn't. Would they? They're _American_ soldiers!"

"True." Jake started walking again. But American or not, those men were soldiers first and foremost. Trained to follow orders, trained to kill. He wiped his brow dry, a useless gesture as the rain was still falling hard. "But they're American soldiers under attack on their home soil, by God knows who, and clueless as to who's in charge of them." The Texan governor stepping into the void was probably the best of all possible outcomes. He went on, "And if they've served any time in Iraq, they've learned to be extra suspicious of anyone walking up to them with a sob story." He shot her a look; now that he was no longer mincing his words, he couldn't seem to stop the harsh explanations. Her face was pale, the yellow plastic giving her a sickly cast. He sighed. "Over there, it could as easily be a suicide bomber as a person truly in need of help."

"Oh..." Her voice had lost its sharp edge. "But―."

He halted again and turned toward her. It was important she understood this. "Anna, they aren't going to take any chances. Nobody will. Not with the way things are now." _The president dead... DC gone... _He still had a hard time believing it.

Anna's shoulders drooped. Rain streamed off her cape in thin rivulets, and she offered him a nod full of contrition. He reached for her hand again. Her skin was cold as he gave her fingers an encouraging squeeze. "We'll be fine." He dipped his head to catch her gaze. "Simply takes a little more time. Okay?"

"Okay." She flashed him an uncertain smile that faded after an instant. "What's going on, Jake?" she whispered, turning to face him. "What's happening to us?" She wasn't just talking about the two of them.

"Honestly?" Jake shrugged. "I don't know." With every sliver of information, every piece of the puzzle they'd been handed, the picture that emerged was bleaker and bleaker. He snuck a peek across his shoulder. The soldiers were gone, the muddy road an empty, endless stretch of brown under gray skies that were showing no sign of the storm ever letting up. He rubbed Anna's hand between his in an attempt to warm it up. "Know what? I think we should make for that barn from last night. It's not far." Today was pretty much lost as it was anyway, and at least the barn was dry and warm. "Rest, regroup, decide what to do next. And we can wait out the weather there. Tomorrow, things will look be better, I'm sure." Anna looked ready to admit defeat, and Jake knew he couldn't afford to give in to the same despondency.

The wry snort he received in reply demonstrated she'd recognized the lie for what it was: an attempt to raise her spirits. "Getting out of this rain sounds good."

Reluctantly, he dropped her hand and they started to retrace their steps and trudge back to the barn.

o0o


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

In the week that followed, the days strung together like beads on a string, each similar to the next. Jake and Anna settled into a routine that required little or no mental energy: wake up at dawn―Jake usually before Anna; eat a quick breakfast of whatever provisions they'd scrounged together; break camp; and set out. At midday, they paused for a small meal and to rest their weary feet, but never for long: they soon picked themselves back up to go on. It was never a point of discussion; they were both eager to put as much distance into the day as they reasonably could. They didn't talk much as they plodded on, reserving their energy for putting one foot in front of the other.

Near sunset, they'd search for shelter for the night, occasionally getting lucky and stumbling upon a barn or a shed. Other times, they were less fortunate and had to sleep under the open skies. It didn't ever rain as often or as long as it had on the day the soldiers at Fort Hood had turned them away, but it stayed overcast. Most days, they never saw the sun at all and could only tell the end of the day was coming because the light darkened from slate gray to deep gray to black.

The land around them gradually changed. The wild and not very populated country of mid-Texas made way for cultivated fields in a gently rolling landscape. Farms and scattered homesteads became more numerous; while most owners would rather see them go than come, it made it easier to get hold of provisions: food, fresh water to drink. Now and then, a farmer would let them bunk overnight in his barn, or wash up at an outdoor tap.

Every night, Jake checked their progress against the map. They averaged twenty miles a day, more on good days, less on days that the weather was bad or Anna suffered from morning sickness. They even risked accepting the occasional short ride from people visiting neighbors, in ancient trucks and, once, a horse-drawn cart.

It was hard going and seven days of steady marching later, they were a hundred miles from Houston―five or six days left to go, Jake reckoned. The sun was finally coming out, but everything was damp: their clothes, their boots, their bags. Jake had tried to light a fire once or twice, using their precious matches, but there was little firewood to be found and what they did manage to collect was often wet and soggy, smoldering smokily and not providing actual heat.

This morning, for the first time in days, blue patches had shown among the clouds. It was superstitious to think it, but Jake took it as a good omen. By midday, when Jake called for their usual short break, blue outweighed white in the sky.

Dropping the backpack onto a flat, grassy piece of land, he made sure it was standing securely and then settled himself down in front of it, leaning his back against it. Anna followed his example, flopping down in the grass beside Jake. Resting on her elbows, she lifted her face up to the sun, soaking in the warm rays and letting out a contented sigh.

Jake snuck a glance at her. Over the past two weeks, she'd lost the slight plumpness she'd had. He'd lost weight too and they'd both suffered from blisters that, once broken, had turned into calloused hard spots on their soles. But though it had been a taxing couple of weeks, they'd survived so far. With their increasing experience of living off the land, Jake was confident they'd manage the last part of their journey at the same speed as the past week. They'd need patience, and stamina, but in the end, they'd get there.

Digging through his backpack, he asked, "You want the last apple?" He fished it out from among their supplies. It was a wrinkly thing, very different from the round, shiny red apples they'd once―not that long ago but the memory seemed dim―been able to buy in grocery stores and supermarkets all over the country.

"Thanks." Anna accepted the piece of fruit without offering to share it with him; she knew he'd refuse. He'd made sure she got the larger portion of the fresh fruits and vegetables they'd gathered from the fields and orchards, only eating any of it when they had plenty. Biting off a piece from the apple, she grimaced, squeezing her eyes closed. Jake reckoned the fruit tasted as bad as it had looked. But it was sustenance and vitamins, so she chewed bravely and swallowed. "We should get to Somerville Lake soon, right?"

Jake no longer needed the map. He'd studied their route so often, he could draw Texas in detail in his sleep. "Just a mile or two."

"Perhaps we can buy some provisions in town. When I was a kid, my grandparents would take us camping there during summer vacation, by the lake." Anna took another bite of the apple, chewing in silence until she could swallow. "Me and my sisters, we'd go swimming, while Gramps tried to catch fish for dinner." She chuckled softly. "He always said we chased away his bass." She finished with the apple, and, as she did every time they ate apples or other fruit, scooped out a small hole in the dirt near the road. Satisfied with the hole, she dropped the core into it and swept the dirt over it, packing it tight with the flat of her hand. Jake smiled to himself as he watched her.

"Anyway," Anna carried on speaking, unaware of Jake's amusement, "before we went home, my grandmother always got fresh produce from a local farmer's market." She licked her lips. "Grammie could bake the best fruit pies."

Jake's mouth watered at the mention of pie. "Mmm." He leaned further into the backpack, relaxing. "In Jericho, my mom's blueberry pie was famous." He uttered a rueful laugh. "I'd love to have a slice of her pie right about now. Or a burger." He could imagine the taste of the beef. "I could go for a nice, juicy cheeseburger with fries."

Anna scrunched up her nose in disgust. "Ew, no, thanks."

"You wouldn't want that? What would you want?" Jake sat up; it was nice to lie here in the sun and dream of food, but it wouldn't get them any closer to their destination. "Lemme guess." He smirked. "Pickles with ice cream?"

Anna snorted with laughter. "Oh, shut up." She slapped his arm lightly as he offered her his hand to help her back to her feet. "That's so cliché." She paused, her eyes gaining a distant look. "To be honest, the ice cream, I'd kill for. You can keep the pickles."

Jake chuckled. He leaned down to close the backpack's flap and buckle it. "After we get to Houston," he straightened and lifted the pack onto his shoulders, "I'll buy you the biggest banana split I can find, okay?"

She grinned at him. "Deal."

Somerville proved a friendlier town than many of the small settlements they been forced to pass through. In fact, the place reminded Jake of Jericho, with its white church and neatly paved Main Street. He quickly buried the sharp pang of homesickness the similarities provoked. Where Somerville differed from Jericho was in the half dozen bars, two diners, and several sports shops specializing in water sports that no doubt owed their existence to the proximity of the nearby lake. Faded posters stapled to telephone poles announced a bass angling contest that had been held in July, and a town fair that would've taken place in August.

Today there were no tourists, and under the watery October sun, Somerville dozed uneasily. Jake could count the people they saw as they walked along Main Street on the fingers of one hand. The farmer's market Anna had mentioned was no longer in business, and every store they passed was closed up tight. His cheerfulness evaporated: he didn't think they'd find any provisions in this town.

He was quickly proven wrong. Near the southern town limit, with a wooden _Leaving Somerville_ sign already visible up ahead, a stall of rough-hewn planks had been erected at the end of a driveway leading up to a small ranch house set fifty yards from the road. A handwritten cardboard sign announced fruits and vegetables for sale, "straight from the garden".

They crossed the road to see what was on offer. Jake would have happily taken whatever fresh produce was available; the time to be fastidious was long since gone.

"Howdy! A very good morning to you." The woman who'd scurried from the house at their approach, greeted them cheerfully. She carried a toddler on her hip. Jake presumed she was the ranch's owner, or his wife. "What can I get you folks?" She set the child, a boy of perhaps two years old, carefully on his feet.

Jake hesitated, his gaze roving over the boxes and crates of peaches, squash, cucumbers, cantaloupes and several other kinds of fruits. If he were totally honest, most of it was starting to appear a tad overripe even to his inexperienced eye, as if it'd been on display longer than it should have been. Late bees and flies, drawn by the sickly-sweet smell of ripe fruit, were buzzing around the stall. He wasn't picky, but they really needed food he could carry and something that wouldn't spoil overnight.

"A half dozen of the peaches, please," Anna told the woman.

"Sure thing, darlin'." The seller selected six of the peaches and put them in a paper bag. "We don't get many people no more," she said, frowning to herself as she picked a pair of bruised peaches from the stack on the table and put them to one side. "Fruit's gonna go waste before we can sell it. Real shame, 'cause these are the sweetest peaches you'll ever eat."

Anna tapped a cantaloupe gently with her knuckles. Dismissing it, she tested a second one, before picking it up and holding it out to the woman to put in a bag. "And this one." She glanced sideways at Jake. "If you can take that...?"

"No problem." He'd have to rearrange the items in the backpack to make room, but he'd make it fit. "Get half a dozen of the apples, too." They were less vulnerable, and he could use those to fill in the small holes that inevitably formed no matter how carefully he tried to pack everything tightly together.

"Okay." Despite his offer, Anna's brows curved in frustration that she couldn't buy more. She hadn't been too comfortable with being forced to forage for edibles in people's yards, but her desire to acquire as much as possible legitimately clashed with the practical consideration that whatever they bought, they'd have to carry it on their own backs until they were ready to eat it.

"Here ya go." The woman offered Anna the paper sack with the peaches. Anna accepted them and set her own bag onto the surface of the seller's table so that she could stow the sack away on top without squashing the fruit. The woman popped the cantaloupe into another bag and began to shake out a third one for the apples. "Oi, Jason!" Her hands stilled as she became distracted. "Stay close, sweetie."

Her son had trundled off, tiny sneakers kicking up small clods of dirt with each wobbly step. The boy ignored his mother's call and trotted further up the road. He tripped over his own feet, and Jake held his breath, fully expecting the child to face-plant in the dirt, but Jason regained his balance and happily kept going on his unsteady legs.

"Sorry 'bout that." Jason's mother made to put down the bag she was holding , to go after the boy.

"I'll get him." Anna jogged after the little boy, who was quicksilver fast despite his short, stubby legs. She caught up with him and knelt in front of him, bringing him to a stop. He cocked his head and peered up at her curiously, giggling at something Anna said.

The seller watched the boy with Anna and smiled at Jake, before bagging the apples he'd asked for. "That'll be―."

"We'll have another bag of those peaches," Jake said quickly, before she could finish. "If you've got something for me to carry them in?" There was no telling when, or even if, they'd find such a treasure trove of fresh produce, and they had another week until they'd reach Houston. He'd make space in the backpack after they stopped for the night and had dinner. Until then, he could carry the extra supplies in his hand.

"Sure enough!" The woman grinned at him happily, clearly glad they were taking her aging crop off her hands, and she started filling a new sack. "So, where're you folks goin'?"

Jake watched her carefully selecting the firmest of the peaches. "Houston." They'd generally been careful about not telling strangers their exact plans, but the woman's friendly manner had made Jake lower his guard.

The second the name dropped from his lips, the woman's open smile dissolved, and her face assumed an unhappy expression. Jake instantly tensed, watching her guardedly.

"You shouldn't go to Houston," she told him matter-of-factly.

Jake eyebrows shot up; it wasn't what he'd expected her to say. "Why not?"

"There's nobody there. FEMA evacuated everyone from Houston, and from a large area around the city." She paused in packing fruit. "They say the water's radioactive." There was a tiny quiver in her voice, demonstrating her instinctive fear of things she couldn't see, couldn't smell and couldn't taste.

"The radiation came all this way from Dallas?" That couldn't be right, could it? Houston was hundreds of miles from the original blast they'd witnessed. And if Houston was not far enough to be safe, if it was true what the woman said... Cold to his core, Jake forced himself not to dwell on how he and Anna had been eating off the land for the past two weeks. Avoiding thinking about it wouldn't change the facts, but he wasn't ready to face them. He certainly didn't want Anna to know. She was afraid enough for her baby's health without him adding any more reasons.

"No, not from Dallas." The fruit seller put the last peach into the paper bag and carefully folded the top. "From Houston." She looked up. "It got attacked, too."

For a long minute, Jake found himself speechless. "Are you sure?" If Houston was gone—. He flashed back to Ernest Jackson, the old man who had given them a ride. Jackson had used the word _clouds_, plural, sounding as if he'd witnessed them with his own eyes. At the time, Jake had pretended not to notice and hadn't asked for clarification. He'd simply told himself Ernie was repeating the same rumors as the sheriff in Vernon had.

"Yes," the woman confirmed with a dip of her head. "Same time as Dallas, and―and all those other cities." She shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "It's terrible what happened, isn't it?"

Wordlessly, Jake looked over at Anna. She was still kneeling and talking to Jason, who was showing her a wildflower he'd picked from the grass at the edge of the road. Jake's chest tightened. How was he going to break the news to her? She'd been so eager to get home and she'd be devastated to learn it was gone. And her parents, they might be dead, too.

If only Jake had been less of a fool, refusing to admit the truth when it had already been staring him in the face. Because, two days ago, he'd picked up a soggy flyer lying by the side of the road. Despite the runny ink, he'd been able to make out the text. It was a FEMA message, announcing a mandatory evacuation. The flyer had said the water table had been contaminated and had ordered everyone to leave. At the time, Jake had convinced himself the piece of paper had been blown south from Dallas and he'd crumpled it up and thrown it away before Anna could see it. Had that self-delusion come back to bite him in the ass?

The seller had finished packing up their purchases and was offering him the plastic bag filled with fruit. He gave a start, having forgotten the woman. Automatically, his mind still reeling from what she'd told him, he reached for his wallet.

"No, that's okay." The woman waved his money away. "Take it, or it'll only go to waste." She directed her attention toward Anna and Jason. "Jason? Come to Mommy, sweetie." This time, the boy listened. He came toddling up as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Anna followed him more slowly.

"Are you safe here?" Jake asked the seller while they waited for Jason and Anna to reach them. He squinted warily at the bag of fruit he was holding. Was it safe to eat? What if―?

The woman bent and lifted her son up on her hip."We got lucky. Winds from the west, and they say we're on a different ground water reservoir." She huffed a wry laugh. "Never knew that. The FEMA folks say we're all right here." She flicked a finger lightly against her son's nose, and the boy crowed with delight. "They've set up a camp near Austin. They took everyone there."

"We heard about Austin." The soldiers at Fort Hood had also mentioned the refugee camp and suggested they go there. If Jake had known then what he knew now, he might have made a different decision.

The woman's eyes stayed on them as Jake and Anna walked away, continuing on down the road to the southeast. It was no longer the direction they should go, but Jake was still gathering up the courage to tell Anna what he'd learned. He dreaded her reaction.

"Such a sweet little kid." Anna twisted around to walk backward a step or two so she could wave at Jason and his mother. Sounding wistful, she added, "I hope I'll have a boy too. One that has Freddy's eyes."

"What?" For an instant, Jake had no clue what she was talking about, his own thoughts a world apart from hers. He hated having to spoil her mood. But he had to tell her the truth. "Anna..." He swallowed, heart thumping, and eyed her sideways.

His tone must've warned her and her smile melted. "Jake? What's wrong?"

"When... when you were talking to the boy, his mother told me something." Again, Jake paused, a lump catching in his throat, making it hard to tell her the rest. He'd have given anything not to have to tell Anna this.

"What? Jake, you're scaring me."

"I'm sorry." He stopped walking, turning to face Anna fully. There was no way to lessen the impact, so he told her softly, "Houston was attacked, too. It's gone. The whole area has been evacuated."

Her complexion turned white as a sheet, and she swayed on her feet as she stared back at him, frozen in place. For an instant, Jake thought she was going to faint and he got ready to catch her.

"No." Anna gulped in a hiccupy breath. "No. I don't believe you. It's not true." She swung away from Jake and marched on, her back ramrod straight, her steps jittery and mechanical, like those of a wound-up toy.

"Anna..."

She ignored him. Jake jogged to catch up with her, the backpack bouncing awkwardly on his shoulders. "Anna, please, stop." He took her arm, but she tore herself free. He sighed. "Please, listen. We should go to Austin, to the camp there. We―."

"No, Jake. No." She whirled on him. Red splotches colored her cheeks and her eyes were dark. He could see the agony in them. "I'm done listening to you. _You_ can go to Austin._ I'm _going home."

Again, Jake reached for her, and again she twisted out of his grip and strode on, clipped and angry. Running his fingers through his hair, Jake watched her go. What was he supposed to do? She wasn't going to listen to reason. Not yet. Maybe never.

He tried to imagine how he'd have reacted if he'd been told Jericho had been nuked off the face of the earth, and he couldn't. It was simply beyond his imagination. He did know he couldn't let Anna go on alone. He'd made a promise he intended to keep, no matter what—even if she was determined to march right into the wasteland that had once been Houston.

Scratching his neck and hoisting the backpack higher onto his shoulders, he followed behind. He didn't try to catch up with her. In her current state, she wouldn't take well to him trying to argue with her further. He made sure he stayed close enough to watch out for her, though, if not so close she'd feel crowded. His only hope was that her common sense would overcome her grief sooner rather than later.

o0o

For the next hour, Anna kept walking ahead of Jake, her body rigid and tense. From time to time she surreptitiously wiped her eyes and Jake reckoned she was crying. He hated that, hated seeing her in pain, hated there was nothing he could tell her that would make it better. In helpless frustration, he curled his hands into fists as he trudged after her, matching her angry pace and waiting for her to run out of steam. It wasn't his fault, but he couldn't stop feeling like he was failing Freddy.

Yellow police tape strung across the road several miles past Somerville finally forced Anna to stop. The sun was getting low in the sky, its watery glare bouncing off of a printed poster stapled to the trunk of the nearest tree. _Contamination zone_, the sign said in bold, black capitals, underlined with red, advising everyone that the area they were passing into had been evacuated. It also warned that access was forbidden by order of the governor of Texas and suggested in smaller print that refugees make for Austin or San Antonio to get assistance from one of the FEMA-run camps.

Reaching the obstruction, Anna stood fiddling with the tape, as if she didn't understand what it was doing there. Jake quickly drew level with her. "Anna?"

She blinked up at him miserably, her eyes bloodshot and glimmering with unshed tears. "Why?" she whispered. "Why is this happening?"

Jake had no answer and in lieu of a reply, he pulled her to him, hoping to offer her comfort through his presence. To his relief, she had apparently exhausted her anger, and she allowed him to hold her as sobs racked her. He didn't track how long they stood together, Anna crying wretchedly and him blinking furiously against the sting in his own eyes. At last, cried out for the time being, she straightened and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

Jake readjusted the backpack that had slipped to hang at an awkward angle while he held her. "You okay?" As soon as he gave voice to the question, he wanted to smack himself. Of course she wasn't; she was as far from okay as was possible.

She sniffled another sob, giving him a quick nod. He wanted to hug her again; she had to be one of the bravest women he'd ever met.

Suppressing the urge to pull her back against him, he suggested gently, "We should go back. Head for Austin, to that FEMA camp."

"No, I want to go on." Anna's voice as she stared down the road beyond the tape barrier was so soft Jake could barely catch the words.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Jake frowned, concerned. "We don't know how far the radiation has spread."

She looked at him over her shoulder. He was shocked to see the desolation in her features. Her eyes were empty. "You don't have to come." Her voice was toneless, and her words held none of the ferocity of earlier. Jake wasn't sure which was worse: the naked pain and anger, or this numbness.

"I'm not abandoning you." He huffed quietly. "It's just... it could be dangerous to go on. Not only for us, but... Anna, you have the baby to think about."

"I know." She put a hand on her still-flat stomach protectively. "But..." She reached for the tape, her fingers curling around it. "Jake, I need to see."

Jake hesitated, the urge to indulge her warring with the compulsion to protect her.

He took another look at the land beyond the tape. It didn't look any different from the terrain they'd passed through: undulating gently, the grass brittle from the summer's drought, and the muddy dirt road drying to dust under the sun. But you couldn't see radiation. For all he knew, that pale grass and dirt could be red hot with fall-out from Houston, slowly leeching the life out of every living thing that came near it. The authorities had presumably evacuated the area with good reason. And hadn't the woman who sold them the fruit mentioned that the water table had been contaminated too?

On the other hand, Jake could understand Anna's drive to confirm with her own eyes what she'd been told. For weeks, getting home to Houston had been the reward beckoning on the horizon, the single thing that had kept her going despite the hardships of their journey. To have that purpose taken away so abruptly would have been devastating in itself. To think that her family might be gone as well defied all imagination.

He took his water bottle from his backpack, buying time by taking a sip before offering the bottle to Anna. Common sense dictated the authorities would've played it safe and had FEMA evacuate a far wider area than was strictly necessary. And the damage from radiation accumulated gradually over long-term exposure, while they wouldn't need to forage in the contaminated zone for several days: they were fully stocked with food and water. Jake didn't plan on staying that long. As long as they were careful, he didn't think they'd be in any immediate danger.

He also hoped that, by giving her time, she'd come to understand that going to a devastated and abandoned Houston wasn't a smart plan. They'd stop for the night soon; if necessary, he'd take a fresh shot at convincing her of the futility of her plan while they rested.

"Okay," he relented, acknowledging that he wouldn't be able to convince her otherwise at this point and that, short of carrying her off, he had no other choice. He called up the mental image of the map of Texas etched into his brain. The next town along the road they were on would be Brenham. It was a bigger town, with several roads leading back west toward Austin. They could change course there without having gone too far out of their way. "We'll go on for a while longer."

"Thank you." The tremulous, fleeting half-smile of gratitude she offered him caused his heart to flutter. Trying not to feel too pleased, he raised the tape as far as it would go. Anna ducked underneath it and he followed her, letting go of the tape as soon as he was clear on the other side.

o0o

If Jake had considered the terrain they'd been traveling through up to then to be empty, the evacuated region surrounding Houston gave him a whole new appreciation for the concept of _abandoned_. Though they'd hardly seen a living soul in the past weeks, he quickly came to understand that his subconscious had reflexively picked up the telltale signs of habitation: the smell of smoke from a distant hearth, a silhouette spotted on the horizon, the echoed _thwack_ of an ax hitting wood.

In the evacuated area, the lack of human noise was conspicuous by its absence and the sounds of nature punctuated the unnatural silence: birds chirping, small animals rustling in the grass, insects buzzing in the sunlight. The occasional homes visible from the road were all boarded up, lawns yellowing and fall blooms withering in the flower beds.

Anna stopped in front of the fourth or fifth such place, a simple ranch house with a double garage and a wide, empty driveway. A kid's bright-red tricycle lay abandoned in the yard, forgotten in the parents' haste to get away. Jake paused as well, shooting her a curious glance as she raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sun. "Do you know what those signs mean?"

As with the other houses they'd walked past, the front door had been spray-painted with glow-in-the-dark orange markings. Glad to see Anna taking an interest in her surroundings again, Jake studied the roughly painted symbols. Numbers filled the four quadrants created by a rough X: a date at the top, agency responsible for making the marks on the left. "These homes were evacuated ten-three by FEMA. Eight days ago." Two days after the EMP, he calculated. He took it as a positive sign FEMA had been up and running after that.

"And the other numbers?" She was talking about the four at the bottom and the zero in the right quadrant.

"How many people they moved, and," Jake hesitated, "how many people they found dead."

"Oh."

Realizing she wouldn't know which was which, he added, "They evacuated four people from this house. I'm guessing it was a family." The kid's bike was a dead giveaway. "They were all fine."

Anna stared at the house for a minute longer, while Jake thought about how the numbers on the doors wouldn't remain so positive the closer they got to Houston and the deeper into the fall-out zone. Now she was able to read the symbols, he hoped she'd change her mind about hiking on before they got that far. He didn't want her to have to see that.

The road was flat and straight, and it made for easy walking. Anna's angry pace had slowed to a speed they could both sustain without much effort and they reached Brenham as the sun was clipping the horizon. The town would offer them some kind of shelter for the night, perhaps a garage or an office lobby. Jake didn't fancy breaking in to a vacated home unless he absolutely had to.

As they made for the center, Jake discovered the town wasn't as abandoned as he'd expected. He could hear engines grumbling in the distance and, far off, voices were shouting, the words unintelligible. He tensed up instantly: Brenham was some way inside the evacuation zone and it should've been deserted. Anyone still around would likely be hostile to strangers. He stopped walking, cocking his head to determine where the sounds came from, and what would be their best exit route.

Anna didn't interpret the presence of other people the same way Jake did; rather than being concerned, she reacted with relief. "There's people here." Jake wanted to caution her against being too optimistic. Before he could say anything, a brief burst of a staccato rattle that was all too familiar reverberated through the quiet streets. His heart dropped into his stomach.

"Dammit!" he swore out loud. That was machine gun fire! What the hell had they walked into? The solitude of the evacuated surroundings had lured him into letting his guard down, thinking they were alone and that the greatest danger came from the unseen radiation. _Way to keep your eye on the ball, Jake_. He took Anna's elbow. "We gotta get out of here," he urged. No matter whether they wanted to veer west to Austin or maintain course for Houston, they should circle around the town and stay well clear of whoever it was firing off automatic weapons.

"What? Why?" Anna hadn't recognized the rattling for what it was―and why would she?

Jake pointed with his chin at where the noise had originated from. "That was gun fire." He couldn't help feel a trace of grim satisfaction at seeing her grow pale under her faint tan. "Come on." He didn't think she'd argue with him this time.

They didn't manage to retrace their tracks more than a dozen paces before a voice called out, "Hey, you two!"

Jake's hand involuntarily flew to the Ruger in his belt as he turned at the sound of the hail. He'd used the weapon once since he'd found it, and that was to shoot a rabbit they'd startled―which they'd subsequently been unable to prepare because they hadn't been able to get a fire going. He hadn't repeated the experiment.

Even as his fingers closed around the butt of the gun, Jake already knew it was too late to run. The guy who'd hailed them, now trotting toward them, wielded an M4. A second guy who was similarly armed followed on his heels.

"Hands where I can see them!" the first guy ordered.

One look at their weapons and the cold detachment on their faces told Jake he'd better do as they said. Letting go of the Ruger, he held his hands out, palms flat.

"Who are they?" Anna whispered. "Soldiers?"

"I wish." With the M4s they were holding, and their black shirts, camouflage cargoes and flack jackets, the men resembled the military sufficiently to be mistaken for army troops. "They're Ravenwood." Jake only needed a brief glimpse of the red-and-yellow patch on their chest to confirm what he already suspected.

Anna drew in a sharp, shocked breath. "Oh God..."

"Stay calm," he hissed at her quietly, while plastering what he hoped was a guileless expression onto his face. "They're not after _us_, I think." Not specifically, at least. He just hoped Ravenwood was in Brenham on legitimate business, and that he and Anna hadn't stumbled onto a rogue squad plundering the abandoned town. He'd heard enough whispered stories in Iraq to consider it a distinct possibility. And even then, it'd be a toss up whether they'd let him and Anna go unharmed or decide they couldn't afford any witnesses. The gunfire wasn't making him feel confident, but he did his best not to show any of the thoughts tumbling through his mind.

"What d'you think you're doing?" The Ravenwood guys had reached them. The second stayed several yards back, covering them with his gun, while his partner quickly patted Jake down. Discovering the Ruger, he wrenched it from Jake's belt. He looked Jake up and down. "Sure as hell hope you two aren't breaking into these people's homes..."

Jake grimaced inwardly at the irony of Ravenwood accusing them of being thieves while he tried not to let them see his anxiety. These guys thrived on fear, and if they found out who he and Anna were... He didn't know if Ravenwood was still interested in them, considering everything that had happened to the country, but they could be vindictive, and he wasn't going to take any chances. He offered what he hoped was shocked indignation. "Breaking in? Of course not." He frowned in fake confusion. "We're trying to get to Houston, been walking for weeks." Sometimes, the truth worked better than any lie.

"Houston's off limits." The Ravenwood trooper inspected Jake's Ruger, checked the safety was on, and gave a satisfied nod before stashing it in his own belt. "I'll hold on to this for you. No private guns allowed. Safety regulations, ya see."

Jake suppressed a snort, knowing the futility of bringing up the Second Amendment. He'd never see the weapon again. A shame, really; it had been a nice gun. And being bereft of it made him feel naked and vulnerable, especially while confronting a pair of mercenaries. All they had left now was the flare gun, hidden deep in Anna's bags.

"You'll have to come with us. Both of you." The second Ravenwood man spoke for the first time, gesturing with his M4. He'd lowered it a fraction after his comrade had disarmed Jake, but he remained wary and ready to shoot at a moment's notice. "Area's been evacuated. We're rounding up the stragglers; nobody's allowed to stay behind."

It sounded plausible enough. But who or what had they been shooting at if they were supposed to be collecting evacuees? Catching thieves in the act was one possibility, but this _was_ Ravenwood, and they were a trigger-happy bunch. They didn't always need an excuse. Jake pushed the thoughts away; it was out of his hands and all they could do was obey and hope the mercenaries were telling the truth.

Encouraged by an impatient wave of a muzzle, he and Anna started walking. "Where are you taking us?"

The Ravenwood guys trod on their heels as they escorted them deeper into the town center. "FEMA camp."

The answer was brusque, though less hostile than Jake would've expected. In fact, he hadn't expected an answer at all.

Their escort took them to the town square. Two military flatbed trucks stood in the center and Jake and Anna were directed toward them. Figures were moving around under the camouflaged awnings covering the truck beds, passing suitcases and satchels to those further back. Behind the trucks and on either side, other people were milling around. Jake saw FEMA shirts as well as Ravenwood uniforms and the tightness in his chest let up: the Ravenwood guys had told the truth.

"Come on, quickly now." One of the FEMA staff, a middle-aged, harried-looking woman urged him and Anna to climb into the nearest truck. A dozen or so people, with their belongings, were already settled on the benches running along the sides. "Don't worry, we'll have you safe soon enough, with a bed and a warm shower." She turned away, not giving either of them opportunity to ask any questions.

The others in the trucks looked at them curiously as they clambered in, obviously recognizing them as not from Brenham. Jake ignored them as he squeezed onto the narrow bench between Anna and the next person, who grudgingly surrendered an inch of space. Putting his backpack between his feet, where he'd be able to keep it upright with his legs, Jake leaned toward Anna. "Sorry 'bout this." He couldn't say he regretted being rounded up and taken to a FEMA camp. He only wished they hadn't run into any Ravenwood personnel.

Anna shrugged in response. She folded her arms around the bag she was holding in her lap. "This is for the best, I guess," she muttered. "You were right. I shouldn't have insisted we go on." She sounded defeated, beaten. He wanted to ask if she was all right but the driver started the truck, and the engine's roar made it hard to be heard without shouting. They set off with a lurch, and Anna grabbed Jake to keep from falling off the end of the bench. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Jake settled in for the ride, Anna warm and soft against him.

o0o


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

It was full dark by the time the truck stopped. When the engine shut off, it left a faint buzz thrumming in the air. It took Jake a puzzled minute to recognize it as the sound of hundreds of people talking: they must've reached the camp.

Following the truck's route on his mental map of Texas, Jake realized FEMA's camp had been set up east of Austin, in a wide loop of the Colorado river. He guessed the ground was flat, most likely open fields, and the river―assuming it hadn't been contaminated with radiation from further north―would provide a source of fresh water, making it an excellent location for an emergency tent city. However, peering around the edge of the truck, Jake couldn't make out much of the camp beyond a confused impression of a smattering of prefab buildings and hundreds of tents lit by flood lamps that cast stark circles of cold, white light.

The same harried woman as before came round and started herding everyone out of the truck. After he'd hopped down and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, he helped Anna climb out. Ravenwood and FEMA personnel ushered everyone toward a narrow gap in the chain link fence. Before they were waved through, their possessions were thoroughly inspected.

"Sorry, ma'am, no guns allowed." A short man wearing a FEMA shirt had discovered the flare gun in Anna's bag. He transferred the brightly colored gun to a second man, who put it in a cardboard box with a lid, before noting a checkmark on a clipboard. He offered Anna a slip of paper with a number written on it. "You can have it back after all this is over." Anna accepted the token without a word.

As soon as they were allowed through the gates, the refugees were directed to a prefab building nearby. Inside, more FEMA personnel were walking around and handing out forms to fill out. Accepting the provided pen, Jake scanned the sheet of paper as it was shoved into his hands. The form asked the usual questions: name, DoB, social security number, last place of residence... Would the Feds or Ravenwood try to track him through FEMA's records if he filled them in truthfully? Chances were they wouldn't: they'd have more important concerns to deal with, considering what he'd seen and been told had happened to the country. Besides, with the computer systems fried by the EMP, he expected to be long gone by the time a red flag went up on Ravenwood's screens.

He quickly scribbled in the required information and passed the pen to Anna so she could do the same on her form. He gave his form to a female clerk sitting behind a fold-out desk. A name tag pinned to her shirt proclaimed her to be Julie-Anne―no last name. She briefly consulted Jake's form. "I'll give you a bed in one of the men's dorms." She consulted a list of what Jake assumed were bunk markers.

Jake blinked at her, at first not understanding. Then it dawned on him what she meant. Recalling the glimpse he'd seen of the camp, his chest tightened with fear. Dozens of tents had been pitched in neat rows on either side of a main thoroughfare, together with a number of plywood barrack blocks. The camp would hold hundreds, possibly thousands of people, and while they probably kept families together, everyone else would be split up into male and female groups. They'd separate him from Anna...

Snatching the form back before the clerk could write down the number of the bed she'd assigned him, he gave her a rueful grin. "Sorry, made a mistake." He quickly scanned the form for the section regarding his marital status, scratched out _Single_ and circled _Married_ instead before returning the piece of paper to the clerk a second time. He gestured toward Anna, who was still working on her own form nearby. "Not yet used to it. See, we just got married the day before... You know." He attempted an innocuous smile and raised his voice a fraction, hoping Anna would pick up on what he was trying to do and would mark her form accordingly. "We were on our honeymoon when... everything happened. Got stranded not far from here."

Julie-Anne regarded him suspiciously. "Hm." Jake held his breath, afraid she'd seen right through the lie, as she shifted her focus to Anna, before squinting down at the page and then looking up to meet his eye again. "I'd say you got very lucky."

Jake let out an inward sigh. His grin widened as he directed a glance full of love and pride at Anna, aiming for a credible impression of a newly-wedded husband looking at his wife. "I know."

The clerk shook her head, smiling slightly, and Jake reckoned he'd fully convinced her the lie was the truth. "That's not what I meant," she remarked absently as she pushed aside the list she'd previously consulted and grabbed a second one, running her finger down it before making a mark on his form. "You're lucky you were on your honeymoon and not at home."

Jake gave her a questioning head-shake. Her smile faded and she blushed. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Jake mentally braced himself; he didn't think he was gonna care much for what she had to say.

Hesitantly, Julie-Anne said, "San Diego. It was one of the cities that got bombed."

Jake felt his own grin, fake as it was, wither. "What? Are you sure?" It was shock that made him ask, not true disbelief. If anyone had a clue what was happening in the rest of the country, FEMA would be among them.

Behind Jake, Anna uttered a horrified gasp. Jake reached for her, and it wasn't for the benefit of the FEMA clerk that he drew her against him, holding her close. He had no clue what to say to her; he couldn't even begin to imagine what she must be going through. While San Diego had been his home too, for a brief while, he had no real ties to the city. But he remembered how Freddy had once offered to set him up with one of Anna's sisters; he assumed they'd also lived in San Diego. He didn't dare ask.

Because if he was right about that, Anna had learned in a single day that she might've lost both her parents and her sisters. What could he possibly say to her that wouldn't sound empty and meaningless?

o0o

Jake lost track of how long he held Anna while the room emptied out around them. Eventually she drew away, clearing her throat but refusing to meet his gaze as she sniffled a final time.

Julie-Anne had used the time to process several other new arrivals, and Jake was grateful she'd given them some time to deal with the news. When she saw they'd finally broken apart, she got up from her desk and walked around it to join them. She held out a sheet of paper with a rough sketch of, presumably, the camp's layout. An X had been scribbled in with a pen.

"I put you and your wife in one of the tents." She tapped a finger on the mark. "Block D, row H, tent 16. You'll find a cot there, and blankets. I'm afraid we're overcrowded, so you'll have to share with another couple." She hesitated, giving Anna a quick look. She added in a softer tone, "I'm sorry. I thought you'd be aware."

Jake acknowledged her apology with a nod and accepted the makeshift map. Gathering up their few belongings, he reached for Anna's hand. It lay limply in his own and he had to give it a gentle tug to make her follow him out of the building.

He frowned to himself, worried at her lack of response and doubly glad he'd lied to Julie-Anne that they were married: at least they could stay together, and he could fulfill his promise to Freddy and be there for her. On the heels of discovering she might have lost her entire family, she could do with a friendly face among all the strangers surrounding them.

Outside the FEMA office, the main track stretched away through the camp. Floodlights set on top of rough-hewn wooden poles lined the route and Jake caught the low hum of a generator drifting from somewhere behind the administration building.

Consulting the sketch Julie-Ann had given him, he led Anna down the main track, deeper into the camp. He could feel people's eyes following them, a few openly curious, most largely indifferent. The rest of the group that Ravenwood had rounded up in Brenham had already disappeared into the maze of tents and barracks set up in neat rows. Of the mercenaries themselves, Jake saw no sign. He assumed they were guarding the perimeter.

Navigating past row after row of tents, he had to hand it to FEMA: despite the dark night and the lack of any guide other than the rudimentary map, it was easy to figure out where to go. Signposts stuck in the dirt at the edge of the main track marked the various blocks and rows, and numbers had been spray-painted in a rough scrawl on the tents' canvas. It spoke of hasty but efficient work.

Jake soon came to their block and row. He glanced back across his shoulder at Anna before steering them into the narrower, well-trodden path that ran between the tents. He'd had to let go of her hand to consult the map but she'd continued to dully trudge along next to him, apparently on autopilot. He debated if he should say something now, or if he should give her more time.

He'd been counting the tents as they went, until he reached sixteen. Confirming the spraypainted number agreed with his tally, he stopped. "This is us," he told Anna. She'd stopped walking when he had, but she gave no other sign she was aware of him or what he'd said. Jake's brow furrowed further in concern and he made a mental note to get her to see a doctor soon as possible.

The tent flap was tied shut, but a light was on, casting odd-shaped silhouettes on the canvas walls as the people inside moved around. Jake hesitated, wondering what to do next. Should they just go in? That seemed rude, even if the tent was now supposed to be his and Anna's new home too. He looked around for a means to announce their arrival. Unfortunately, the canvas offered no place to knock.

At last, Jake settled on a low-voiced, "Hello?"

At his call, the shadows stilled for an instant, before they broke apart. One of the shapes grew to monstrous proportions as it moved toward the opening of the tent. The flap quivered briefly as it was untied, opening to reveal a gray-haired man blinking up at them. He was a good three inches shorter than Jake and had the weathered features of a man who'd spent the larger part of his life outdoors.

"Hello there. You must be our new tent mates." He offered Jake an friendly grin, before darting a glance past Jake at Anna. "They told us to be expectin' company soon." Stepping back, he held the tent flap aside and gestured. "Come on in, and make yourselves comfortable."

"Thanks." Jake ducked, quickly figuring out the tent was so low that the top of his head would brush the ceiling even in the middle at the highest point of the roof. He let his gaze travel around. On either side of the tent stood small cots, barely wide enough for two. The one on the left was unmade, folded blankets and sleeping bags piled on top of the mattress. On the right cot sat a woman with a blue cardigan wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill. She had curly brown hair peppered with gray, and laugh lines crinkled around her eyes as she peered up at Jake and Anna.

Clambering to her feet a tad laboriously, as if in mild pain, she padded over. "Welcome." Her smile was genuine and warm. "I'm Molly Ginsberger, and this is my husband, Henry." She indicated the man, who'd dropped the tent flap back into place and was retying it.

Jake introduced himself in return, and gestured at Anna. "This is Anna." Belatedly, he remembered they were supposed to be married, and he hastily added, "My wife." The words sat strangely on his tongue, and he promised himself he'd explain everything to Anna as soon as he could. He didn't know what she'd made of the lie; heck, he couldn't even tell if she'd fully caught up on it―although he supposed she had marked her form accordingly, or Julie-Anne wouldn't have sent them to the married couples' tents without further inquiries.

"Here, dear, let me help you with that." Molly scurried to take Anna's bag from her, guiding her to the bare cot on the left. "This will be your side, and me and Henry will stay on the other." She gave an exasperated shake of her head as she surveyed the cramped proportions of the tent. "It'll be a tight fit, but we'll manage, won't we, dear?" She squinted up at Jake expectantly, and he dipped his head in agreement. Not as if they had a choice.

"Have you two eaten yet?" Without waiting for a reply, Molly started going through her belongings. "Kitchen'll be closed, but I think I have―Ah, here it is!" Triumphantly, she showed him a shabby Snickers bar. "That'll tide you over till breakfast."

"No, thank you, we couldn't take that from you." Jake shook his head as she offered him the Snickers. "We're okay." He held up the plastic bag with what remained of the fruit they'd bought that same morning from the seller near Somerville—before what was left of the world fell apart around them, leaving Anna, now sitting on the bed clutching her bag, a shell of the woman she'd been.

"No, it's alright." Molly held out the chocolate bar a second time. "Please. I think it's too sweet, and poor Henry can't stand peanuts." Henry nodded at Jake in confirmation and Jake accepted the candy with a dip of his head in thanks.

"And if it eases your conscience," Molly hinted, "I'll gladly trade you for a peach. I haven't had fresh produce in... Well, since we got here."

"Deal." Jake grinned, digging through the bag of fruit for two peaches and offering them to Molly. He chuckled softly at the bliss on her face as she accepted them. Considering it a trade well done, Jake went to unpack the rest of their possessions, trying to figure out where to stash the backpack.

As he knelt to shove it under the cot, he caught a whiff of himself, sharp and unpleasant in the enclosed space of the tent. Wrinkling his nose, he snuck an embarrassed peek at the older couple, but they didn't seem to be paying him any attention. He remembered seeing the word _showers_ on the map. Getting the map out again, from where he'd stashed it in a pocket, he took another look.

The washrooms were, unsurprisingly, located next to the river, at the far end of the camp. Perhaps a nice shower and a bite of chocolate would make Anna feel better. She'd yet to say a word and was still staring at the ground between her feet.

He turned toward Molly and Henry, who he reckoned would have a good grasp on the workings of the camp, to ask how they could get towels and soap. He wondered how long it would take him to become an old hand at camp life and what his new life as a refugee would be like. He had a hunch he was soon gonna know more than he wanted.

o0o

Armed with a bar of soap and a couple of towels loaned by Molly―"You can get your own tomorrow morning, from the Exchange," she'd told Jake―as well as the sketch map and Henry's directions, Jake and Anna slogged past rows of tents toward the washrooms. The night was dark and quiet, and every alternate flood light had been switched off―to conserve energy, Jake assumed. Only a few people were moving among the tents; everyone else had withdrawn to their own quarters. Lamps still burned in several tents and the low buzz of voices talking in hushed tones was all around them. The soft hum was occasionally punctuated with a child's cry, or harsh coughing, and even, once, laughter.

_At least there's people who can still laugh._ Jake cast furtive glances at Anna, walking silently beside him. She looked more aware of her surroundings than she had immediately after they'd gotten word about San Diego―at least she'd gotten up when Jake had suggested they try and find the shower rooms―but she had her gaze turned down to the ground and the grass trampled flat by countless feet.

The washrooms sat at right angles to the main track that bisected the camp. Jake could hear the gurgle of water—the river—from beyond the low brush that grew outside the chain link fence marking the end of the camp. The washroom building itself was another quickly thrown-up prefab, set on stilts and with a double step leading up to the doors, one marked as being for the men in the camp and the other for the women. Jake suggested Anna go first, since they had one bar of soap between them. She agreed wordlessly, taking the soap and one of Molly's towels from him, and walking into the maw of the women's section.

With nothing to do except wait, Jake surveyed his surroundings. There wasn't a lot to see outside, beyond endless rows of tents, the canvases pale blobs in the darkness, so he went to investigate the men's section. As he walked in, he automatically fumbled by the door for the light switch, not realizing what he was doing until he actually touched it. Flicking it experimentally, he was surprised when it activated a string of bare bulbs overhead. Just how much gas were FEMA using to keep the entire camp electrified? How were they getting it delivered? And what would they do if they ran out? He guessed they should count themselves lucky they were in Texas, where oil and gas were an almost infinite natural resource.

The washroom itself reminded him strongly of a high school locker room, right down to the smell: a faint mixture of damp and sweat and soap. He counted a dozen shower heads at the far end, mounted to the wall above a man-high partition. Nearer to the entrance, a line of wash basins hung opposite a row of toilet stalls. The floor was covered in sickly green linoleum that had already started bubbling from the damp. A handwritten notice had been glued to the wall behind the sinks with a piece of sellotape, warning _Do Not Drink, Not Potable_. Seemed Jake had been right: they were pumping water straight from the river. It'd be safe enough to shower with. But drinking water for the thousands of people in the cramped camp must be coming from another source.

Footsteps behind him made Jake spin around, expecting Anna. It was a pot-bellied man, dressed in a pair of sweats and a rumpled T-shirt. He gave Jake the kind of part curious, part disinterested glance that strangers always shot each other in public restrooms as he brushed past. Jake nodded neutrally in response. "Hey, ask you something?" He gestured at the notice. "What d'you do for drinking water?"

The man afforded Jake a second, warier look, his gaze going up and down. "You new?" He didn't appear too pleased with the idea.

"Yes," Jake admitted. "Arrived this evening."

"Hm." The other man scratched his belly. "They give out drinking water in the mornings." He grudgingly added the extra information that it was "In bottles."

"Where do they get it?" Jake asked.

The man shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care." Not giving Jake a chance to ask anything else, he went into one of the stalls.

Rolling his eyes inwardly at the guy's unfriendly demeanor and his disinterest in where the supplies he lived off came from, Jake headed back outside to wait for Anna.

He didn't have to wait long; mere minutes later—after the pot-bellied man had waddled out past him with a glare that told Jake not to bother him further—, she came down the steps from the women's showers, clutching the towel. She handed him the soap, now wet and slippery.

"I'm going right back, okay?" They were the first words she'd spoken all evening. While Jake was glad to see she was starting to come back from the horrible news they'd received, the dull tone with which she spoke still gave him reason enough to frown. He also didn't want to let her out of his sight to wander the camp alone under the circumstances.

He ducked his head to try and catch her eye. Her hair hung in damp strands around her face, and she was pale under the orange glare of the nearby lamp, her mouth tight with grief. "You okay?"

"Fine. Just tired."

Jake clung to the wet soap that threatened to slip out of his hand. It made no sense to make her cool her heels waiting for him when she could use that time to catch up on much-needed sleep. And the camp was guarded; she should be all right, shouldn't she? "You know how to get to the tent?"

She lowered her head. "Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be right behind you." He touched her arm briefly with his free hand, a silent attempt at comfort that likely proved futile, and watched until she'd disappeared in the night, her shoes scuffing at the dirt and her shoulders slumped.

o0o

The water, which dripped from the shower head in a miserable thin stream, was lukewarm at best, but Jake didn't mind the subpar amenities: in his book, being able to take a shower at all beat sponge baths in freezing streams or under barn taps by a mile. Once he was done, he toweled off and put on his jeans and a mostly clean shirt, before surveying his reflection in the stainless steel mirror screwed onto the wall over the sinks. He scratched at the week-old scruff on his chin, thinking he'd have to see about getting a new razor in the morning; he'd discarded the one he'd brought from San Diego in a ditch seven days ago as less relevant than food and water.

Turning his back on the mirror, he flung the damp towel over his shoulder and softly trod back to the tent they'd been assigned. The camp had grown quieter since he'd made the journey the other way, fewer tents showing lights inside. As he ducked through the opening of his own tent, he discovered someone―Henry, probably―had strung a line down the middle of the tent, running from pole to pole, and thrown a thick, green blanket over it, partitioning the space into two halves. The blanket had been folded back near the entrance, leaving a small open area by the tent flap that would allow them to walk into and out of their own halves without having to move the blanket.

"Thought I'd give you guys some privacy," Henry confirmed in a soft voice, startling Jake.

"Thanks." Jake smiled his thanks, before ducking around the makeshift screen. Anna was curled up on the far side of the cot, facing the canvas, her back turned on him and the tent. With the blanket blocking the already dim light from the Ginsbergers' lamp, he couldn't tell if she was already asleep or just pretending to be. Either way, it was obvious she didn't want to talk to him. He dragged his backpack out from under the bed and draped the towel over it so it could dry out. Quietly searching through the rest of their belongings, he took out the airline blankets they'd taken from the plane. Tucking the folded blankets under his elbow, he gathered up Molly's soap. About to dodge around the curtain, he paused abruptly; he didn't want to barge into the Ginsbergers' private space without being invited. "Molly? Henry?" he called softly.

Once he got an acknowledgment that it was okay to go through, he pushed the curtain aside. Molly was sitting on the edge of the cot, brushing her hair. Henry was leaning down to untie his shoe laces, muttering softly at a stubborn knot.

"Thanks for the soap." Jake gave the bar to Molly. She accepted it with a smile and a quiet, "You're welcome."

Jake gestured at the partition. "I don't want to put you guys out of a decent blanket. It can get cold at night." He wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know, but he'd frozen his ass off enough over the past weeks to understand that their heavy blanket could be put to better use than providing a privacy screen. "Why don't we use these?" He showed Henry the flimsy airline blankets. "They're pretty thin, but I think they'll do the job?"

"Yes, they certainly should." Henry shot Jake a quick grin as he took the blankets and shook them out. "Less strain on the tent, too." He showed Jake how the line was sagging under the weight of the blanket.

Between them, Jake and Henry made short work of replacing the heavy woolen blanket with the lighter airline ones. Wishing the older couple a good night, Jake moved back to his and Anna's section of the tent. He kicked off his boots, not bothering to undress, and crawled onto the cot. It was so narrow that he could only get comfortable by curling around Anna―no longer nearly as discomfiting as it had been that first night in the truck: they'd shared blankets and body heat every night in the past couple weeks.

As he drew her to him―her slow, even breathing told him she had indeed fallen asleep; he was careful not to wake her―he fully expected he wouldn't catch sleep any time soon. A lot had happened during the day for him to think about. To his surprise, he drifted off as soon as he closed his eyes.

o0o

He was roughly woken not much later by something jabbing him in the ribs, hard. "Oomph." Trying not to panic, he struggled under the weight that held him prisoner.

"Sorry." Anna's voice came as a nearby whisper, her breath warm on his skin, and the weight lifted. "Didn't mean to wake you."

She'd raised herself on her elbows, lying half on top of him, a dark shadow against the lighter material of the tent wall. Jake blinked the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?"

She hesitated a heartbeat. "I've got to go."

His brain still sleep-addled, Jake didn't get it right away. "Go? Go where?"

"_Go_, go." It was her put-out tone more than her actual words that finally made him catch on.

"Oh," he murmured, embarrassed at his own dimness and blaming it on exhaustion. "Right." He sat up to make room so Anna could crawl past him and climb off the cot.

She knelt down and reached underneath the bed. "Where did you put the flashlight?" Faint rustling sounds told Jake she was trying to locate it by touch.

The tent was darker than it had been earlier, even accounting for the Ginsbergers' switching off their lamp. FEMA must've killed the rest of the floodlights for the night. Jake pictured Anna trying to navigate the camp in the dark, stumbling over tent lines or uneven ground. He shook his head, aware as he did so that she couldn't see him. "I'm coming with."

She uttered a soft snort. "I can find it myself." Her voice was filled with something between irritation and amusement.

Jake fumbled for his boots and slipped his feet into them. He grabbed the flashlight from where he'd carefully placed it within reach before crawling into bed. "I'm sure you can. I'm still coming." It wasn't the first night she'd woken them up, and he normally wouldn't worry about it, but those other times they'd been alone in the middle of nowhere, not in a camp overflowing with desperate strangers.

If Anna had any further objections, she didn't voice them, which confirmed to Jake she wasn't feeling nearly as brave as she was pretending to be.

Trying to be as quiet as they could, they tiptoed to the entrance. It wasn't easy in the cluttered tent; Jake stubbed his toe on something and had to bite back an cry. Stepping out into the cold night, he yawned and rubbed a tired hand across his face as he clicked on the flashlight. The beam was weak, but enough to keep them from running into tents or lamp poles. Without a word, they set off side by side.

The camp, while mostly asleep, was anything but silent, especially compared to the empty countryside they'd hiked through for the past few weeks. Sounds drifted through the darkness: loud, rhythmic snores, coughs, muffled sobbing nearby.

They turned left when they reached the main track, heading back to the washrooms at the far end of the camp. The wide swath of bare grass made for easier going than the narrow path between the tents.

"You two, stop!"

Though uttered in a low voice, the order breaking the silence was unmistakably aimed at them. Jake froze in mid-step, before slowly twisting on his heel toward the owner of the voice. He breathed out as he prepared to face whoever had challenged them, instinctively stepping between the speaker and Anna. A flashlight, stronger than the one he carried, shone in his face, and he threw up an arm to ward off the glare. "You mind?"

The light was angled down, and Jake blinked away the spots still dancing in his eyes. Once he'd gotten his sight back, he saw they'd been stopped by someone wearing the uniform of a National Guardsman. _Camp security_, it abruptly dawned on him. He was relieved FEMA had brought in the National Guard and not just Ravenwood to maintain order, and a little annoyed nobody had mentioned to him that there would be patrols inside the camp during the night. He would've preferred not to have been spooked out of his wits by the hail; he was on edge enough as it was.

"Where ya goin'?" The guard's eyes glittered with wariness in the light of his lamp.

"Restroom." Behind Jake, Anna gritted out the word through clenched teeth. Jake sympathized with her; he'd learned early on she was a fairly private person who didn't like to let on about her personal concerns.

"Both 'a ya?" Anna's answer hadn't alleviated the man's suspicion.

"Making sure she gets there safely," Jake offered quickly. The guard considered them, the beam of his flashlight swiveling from Jake to Anna and back.

"Alright, go on. But best remember we're not fond of you lot skulking around after dark."

Jake barely managed to swallow a rejoinder they'd been walking along in the open and were using a flashlight that was clearly visible to anyone paying attention, which was hardly _skulking_. He didn't think the Guardsman would appreciate the remark. And the man was only doing his duty.

With the Guardsman gesturing with his light to confirm his permission for them to carry on, they turned and resumed their journey toward the washrooms.

"You okay?" Jake asked after a few seconds. Anna was now going so fast he had to jog to catch up with her.

"I'm fine." She sounded anything but.

"Listen, the guy's just doing his job. At least we're safe here."

She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, moderating her pace to match his. "I know. It's―." She didn't finish, and they closed the last fifty yards in silence.

"Here." Jake offered her the flashlight. The washrooms were black hulking shapes against the night sky and he doubted the lights inside were powered up. "I'll wait here."

"Thanks." Her fingers brushed over his as she took the light from him.

Jake drew in a lungful of the night air, clean and cold, and smelling of the nearby river. He glanced up at the sky. It was partly overcast, a surprising number of stars visible in the breaks between the clouds. Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to Jericho. How would Mom and Dad and Eric be dealing with this new world, plunged into chaos and lacking electricity or electronics? He sighed again, wishing he was there.

Anna should be safe now, here in the camp. Shouldn't she? FEMA would arrange for enough to eat and clean water to drink, and there'd be medical personnel to look after everyone's well-being. Didn't that mean he'd fulfilled his promise to Freddy?

He'd best wait a couple days, though, until he could be sure Anna got settled in all right. Once he was sure she'd be okay, he could leave, try to make it to Jericho. He did a quick mental calculation in his head: with a little luck, he could get there for Thanksgiving. He smiled as he imagined his mother's face when he arrived at his parents' house, and tried not to think what Dad would say. It had been five years, but things had changed. Everything was different now. Wasn't it?

o0o

Muted voices arguing nearby plucked Jake from a dreamless slumber. For several heartbeats, he didn't know where he was, and he sleepily tried to puzzle out the pale canvas overhead and the lumpy mattress under him that was, nevertheless, softer than the hard-packed dirt he'd grown used to. Then the fog cleared and he remembered they were at the FEMA refugee camp.

"Let them sleep."

Jake recognized Henry's voice, speaking in low tones.

Gently disentangling himself from Anna's still sleeping form, Jake rolled over until he could swing his legs over the side of the cot.

"There won't be anything left." Molly's response sounded urgent as it drifted past the curtain.

Jake stretched and yawned. The cot creaked softly as he raised himself off of it. The voices on the other side of the tent fell silent.

"Jake?" That was Molly again, calling his name tentatively. "Are you awake?"

"Yes." He stuck his head around the curtain, rubbing at his eyes. The older couple were dressed already, their cot neatly made up.

"Excellent." Molly beamed at him, the lines around her eyes crinkling. "I was just tellin' Henry to go wake you up. You and your wife best get yourselves to the mess hall soon as you can, if you want breakfast." She pursed her lips in clear discontent. "The later it gets, the more they water down the oatmeal."

"Oatmeal?" Jake yawned a second time until his jaw cracked.

"That's all they manage to cook for breakfast." She shook her head. "How they think we can live on that..."

"Sometimes they have real cereal," Henry amended his wife's statement, smiling fondly in her direction. "And one time, there was eggs."

"Nothing but oatmeal porridge for the last five days, though." Molly sniffed in disdain. "Burned oatmeal porridge, at that. If only they'd let me help!" Spoken like a real cook; Jake failed to suppress a grin. "Anyway," Molly pretended not to see how her husband had offered Jake an amused wink, "You should hustle if you want to eat. You know where the mess hall is? Henry, tell him." With the final word, she gestured impatiently at her husband to give Jake directions.

"Big building right next to the place they processed us, right?" Jake remembered passing it last night when they were searching for their tent. It had been locked up tight, plywood shutters across the windows and a heavy padlock on the door. Curious to know what the building housed that needed so much security, Jake had checked its location against the map Julie-Anne had given him.

"Yes, that's the one," Molly confirmed. "We'll leave you two to get ready." She ushered her husband out of the tent ahead of her, before letting the flap fall closed behind them, shutting off the bright daylight that had briefly surged in. The gloom inside the tent seemed even deeper in contrast.

Anna had rolled onto her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, facing away from him. He could tell she was awake from the tension in her shoulders and her uneven breathing. "Hey?"

"Leave me alone." Her voice lacked any real fire.

"Didn't you hear Molly?" Jake didn't know when she'd woken up or how much of the conversation she'd overheard, so he added, "If you don't get up, we'll find watery porridge and nothing else." He jammed his right foot into his boot and searched around for wherever he'd kicked the other one after coming back from the trip to the facilities in the middle of the night. He located it hidden under the cot and knelt to haul it out.

"Not hungry." Anna drew the blanket more tightly around herself.

"Anna―."

"Go away, Jake!"

Jake chewed his lip as he looked at her from where he knelt by the cot. All he could see of her were a few strands of tangled hair sticking out from the top of the covers. He debated what to do. She'd feel better if she ate something; she always did. But he could hardly drag her out of bed and along to the mess hall against her will, could he?

Puffing out his cheeks in defeat, he relented. "I'll bring you some, okay?" Anna didn't answer. With a sigh, Jake finished tying the laces of his left boot, and stood up straight, forgetting how low the ceiling was until his head caught against the canvas. Ducking a little, he left the tent.

Surveying his surroundings by the light of day for the first time, the even rows of dirty-white tents gleaming in the sunshine, he chuckled wryly. Even if he hadn't been told how to find the mess hall, it would've been easy to locate: he'd only have to follow the crowd streaming in the same direction.

It would seem this was one of the busiest hours: the queue that started inside the building ran out the door and down the steps, snaking toward the corner. He was beginning to understand why Molly had insisted they hurry up. He swept his gaze around. Not seeing her or Henry, he joined the queue. It quickly grew even longer behind him.

The kitchen staff were more efficient than Molly had made them sound, though, as the line moved forward at a steady pace. In less than ten minutes Jake found himself indoors, approaching a counter behind which cooks in white aprons were ladling porridge from big kettles. Glancing around for cues, Jake followed everyone else's example and collected two of the plastic bowls that stood in tottering stacks at the near end of the counter.

The cook, a red-faced man with wisps of blond hair sticking out over his ears, dumped a big scoop in the first bowl Jake held out to him. "One bowl per person."

"It's for my... wife." Jake stumbled over the word.

The cook gave him a hard stare. "I don't see her."

Jake sighed and gestured with the empty bowl. "She's not feeling so great. I promised I'd bring her something to eat."

"Sorry, buddy." The cook leaned over to pour a portion of porridge into the bowl of the woman next in line behind Jake. "No can do. If your wife's sick, she should go to the medical center. If she's not, she'll have to get her own meal."

"But―." Jake started. Behind him, an impatient murmur—people wondering why the line had stopped moving—rose up, gradually picking up volume.

"Listen, pal." The cook put down his ladle and straightened. "If I start giving out portions for people I can't see, everyone and their uncle will complain they have a sick wife who can't come to get her share. It's plenty hard as it is to feed those who're actually here. Now, get moving, you're blocking the line." He directed a final glare at Jake.

Jake wisely got out of the way of the hungry people pushing up behind him. He couldn't fault the cook; what the man had said made sense. Still, he wished he hadn't given up so easily, earlier. Wished he'd tried harder to convince Anna to get up and come with him.

He stared down at the thin porridge already congealing in his own bowl. Around him, the mess hall was packed, the din of dozens of voices talking at once mixing with the sounds of chairs scraping over the linoleum and spoons clattering in bowls, all warping into a single roar. Searching around for a place to sit at one of the many folding tables, Jake thought about Anna, alone in their tent. She really should eat, for her own sake, and for the baby's. And a missed breakfast wasn't gonna kill him... Coming to a decision, he ignored the empty chair he'd just spotted and headed back outside. Carefully holding the bowl so as not to spill any of the oatmeal, he returned to his tent.

However, if he'd expected Anna to be grateful for the food, he was quickly proven wrong. Despite his pleas, she refused to eat any of it. She merely repeated that he should leave her alone and go away. When he didn't, she refused to acknowledge him any further, pulling the blanket over her head and pretending not to hear him. Clueless as to what else he could try to make her reconsider, Jake ate the cold and and lumpy porridge himself. He grimaced at the bitter flavor; Molly had been right, the oatmeal had been burned.

Anna still had her back to him by the time he finished. Preparing to return the bowl, he bumped into Molly as soon as he stepped out the tent. She was hovering near the entrance, apparently reluctant to enter. Her lined, friendly face was drawn with concern as she tried to shoot a glance past Jake at Anna. "She's not sick, is she?"

Jake debated how to answer her question. "No," he conceded. "It's morning sickness." The tent was too small to keep any secrets for long and trying was just a waste of time. He did his best to give Molly a reassuring smile. "If I can get her to eat, it'll pass."

Delight instantly replaced the concern in Molly's countenance. "You're expecting a little one? That's such wonderful news." She patted Jake's arm. "First child? I'm sure you'll make a great father. And don't worry, dear, I have just the recipe to deal with morning sickness. Let me―." She didn't finish, flapping a hand for him to step aside so she could get into the tent, presumably to find the ingredients for her miracle cure.

Smiling inwardly despite himself, Jake didn't disabuse her of the notion that he was the baby's father―he was supposed to be Anna's husband, so it was a logical conclusion for Molly to jump to. "There's another thing..." He spoke before he was aware of it.

Molly paused in ducking through the flap, squinting up at him

"We were going to Houston to visit Anna's parents and grandparents. We didn't hear what happened to the city until yesterday morning." Jake paused, wondering if he should mention San Diego too. Molly and Henry were friendly, but he didn't really know these people and he'd already told Molly more than he'd planned. He finished quietly, "We have no idea what's happened to her family."

Molly's bright smile had receded as Jake talked. "Oh dear." She wrung her hands. "Poor, poor girl."

"What's goin' on?" Henry frowned at his distraught wife as he came walking up to the tent.

"Jake tells me Anna's parents are from Houston. Imagine, she doesn't know if they're alive or dead. And her pregnant to boot,"

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Henry obviously made up his mind not to ask for clarification just then. Instead, he asked "What area of Houston?"

Jake shrugged self-consciously. "I don't know," he admitted, thinking he sounded dumb, not having a clue where his 'wife's' parents lived. It didn't seem to bother Molly.

"You should find out." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she'd produced from the sleeve of her cardigan. "They could be alive. Maybe even in this very camp." She peered at Jake hopefully. "Not everyone in the city died, you know. There's plenty of folks who came from the suburbs. Though some that came in―," she swallowed hard and shuddered, before continuing in a whisper, no longer meeting his gaze, "―they were real sick. From the radiation, they said. It was a terrible, terrible thing to see."

"Doctors couldn't do much for 'em." Henry spoke softly, picking up the story. He put a hand on Molly's shoulder in silent support, and she placed her own hand on top of his, squeezing lightly. "Those who came in sick like that, they died within days."

Jake twisted the dirty bowl around in his hands. Best not tell Anna any of that. He took a quick look at the tent flap he'd dropped closed, hoping the Ginsbergers had spoken softly enough that she hadn't overheard. He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen after Henry had finished. "I, um, I should..." He gestured with the bowl and stepped past the older couple.

"Jake, wait!" Molly snatched at his sleeve as he was about to walk off. "You should put up a notice on the Wall. There's always a chance someone knows what's happened to Anna's folks." She peered at her husband. "Don't you think that's a good idea, Henry?"

"It's certainly worth a try."

"What wall?" Jake asked, not understanding what it was they were trying to tell him.

"The Wall." Jake could hear the capital W now. "Didn't you see it?"

"I don't think so." Jake still had no idea what Molly was referring to.

"Around the mess hall. People put up pictures and notices about folks they're looking for," Henry clarified. "Family, friends, loved ones."

"Wouldn't FEMA have all that information?" Jake asked. "Or the Red Cross?"

"Sure," Henry stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. "But there are camps all over the place, and they won't release any news until it's fully confirmed." He frowned unhappily. "These days, that could take forever. It's not official, but the Wall's a good way to find people who have information."

"A very good way." Molly turned toward her husband. "Remember the Waltons?"

"Sure do." Henry scratched at his whiskers. "The Waltons live down the road from us," he explained. "They got cousins in Houston, and they thought they'd all died in the attack. But a guy came over the other day from a camp near San Antonio. And guess what? Turns out those cousins made it there. They're all alive and well."

"Could be the same for Anna's parents," Molly suggested in a soft voice. "Won't hurt to try."

No, it wouldn't. Jake made a mental note to ask Anna for details about her parents, so she could put up her own notice for her family. For her sisters, too, even if San Diego was three states over. You never knew, maybe she could get lucky. She certainly deserved a bit of happiness, after everything she'd been through. He thanked Molly and Henry for the tip, and took his leave, aiming for the mess hall and a look at this notice wall.

o0o


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Jake left the empty bowl with a stack of others waiting to be cleaned and went back outside to look for Molly's Wall. From the description she'd given him, and having seen similar set-ups on the evening news after other tragic events, he thought he knew what he was in for. Nothing had prepared him for the sheer size of the real thing, and he couldn't believe he'd failed to notice it earlier.

It covered up the entire south wall of the mess building: at least forty feet long by roughly five feet high―as high as a man could reach and still be sure his message could be read—and every inch was plastered with pictures and notes. Jake heart dropped as he took in the sheer number of notices, each piece of paper representing a desperate appeal for news from loved ones: fathers, sisters, uncles, wives...

He held out for half an hour, reading note after note, until he grew too nauseated. Though he'd manage to look at only a fraction of the material, he could no longer stomach the peeks he'd gotten into people's lives: into their anguish and their heartache. The bombs, the cities destroyed and the number of possible dead had all been an abstract concept to him up until then, a story to be horrified over while concentrating his energies on his and Anna's own survival. This wall of despair brought the stark reality home. There were holiday snapshots, driver's license pictures, even wedding photos. The images pictured the young and the old, from every ethnic group imaginable. The notes accompanying them were scrawled in an equally wide variety of scripts, printed on all kinds of paper: notepad pages, napkins, old-fashioned printer sheets. And none of what he read rang a bell with Jake.

He should pry further information out of Anna before he tried to read the rest of the notes. Even if someone had put up a notice about her parents, chances were he'd miss it entirely because he wouldn't know enough to recognize it. And Anna should put up her own message, too, as Molly had suggested.

Still too shaken by the Wall to face dealing with Anna or her grief right then, Jake walked over to the registration building. FEMA might have news, or the Red Cross. Though Henry had made a valid point—the authorities wouldn't forward gossip and hearsay—it was worth a try, anyway. At the very least, it was better than doing nothing.

The room was packed with people crowding around the beleaguered FEMA personnel: clamoring they wanted to talk to the guy in charge; asking for money; calling for better food or a private tent. One man was even demanding FEMA let him use the phone so he could call his lawyer and have them sued. Jake took one look at the throng and backed out quickly. There was nothing to be gained from the harried staff.

Pausing outside the door and trying to figure out what his next move should be, he spied the female clerk who'd registered them. _Julie-Anne_, he recalled. She was standing near the corner of the building, one leg bent at the knee and her foot braced against the wall, smoke curling up from a cigarette clamped between her fingers. She'd been friendly, hadn't she?

Jake walked over to her. As his shadow fell across her, she squinted up at him. She didn't give him a chance to open his mouth. "I'm sorry, I can't help you." Jake huffed a wry laugh; she must be used to people accosting her during her smoke breaks. "You're gonna have to―."

"I know," he interrupted. "You signed us in last night."

She tilted her head and gave him a closer look. "The newly-weds from San Diego?" She took a drag from her cigarette, blowing out a stream of blue smoke. "How's your wife doing?" She flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette. "I'm sorry you two had to get the news about what happened to your home the way you did. If I'd known you didn't know..." She left the rest unspoken.

"It's alright. You couldn't know." They were both silent for a minute. Inside the office, a woman started screaming insults at the top of her voice; one of the National Guardsmen on watch at the gate came over to check it out.

Julie-Anne's attention remained focused on the door after the guard had gone inside. Her features showed a mix of frustration and concern. "They all want something we don't just have," she muttered. Jake didn't think she was speaking to him.

He hesitated. "Sorry." He gave her a rueful half-shrug in apology. "I'm looking for information regarding my wife's parents." He absently noted that the word came easier to his lips with every repetition.

"Of course you are." Julie-Anne's face twisted into a grimace that contained a large dollop of resignation. Inside the office, the guardsman must've calmed everyone down, as the angry voices had fallen silent. Julie-Anne pushed away from the wall. "What are their names?"

"Gomez?" Jake mentally kicked himself for not having asked Anna for her parents' first names before leaving for the camp office. "They'd be an elderly couple from Houston."

Julie-Anne snorted a wry laugh. "Is that all you have? It's not exactly an uncommon name."

Jake sighed. He could ask Anna, but Julie-Anne might not be so forthcoming next time. "No, sorry."

She dropped her cigarette butt and crushed it out with her heel. "Have you seen the board near the mess?"

"I did." Jake scratched his neck. "It's―."

"Distressing?" she suggested softly. "It is." Her shoulders slumped. "So many... And there's only so much we can do..." She gazed out across the bustling camp that hunkered under the slate-gray sky.

One of her colleagues came over to present her with a file folder. "Can you take a look at this?"

Julie-Anne accepted the file wordlessly. She offered Jake an apologetic smile as she brushed past him. "I'm sorry, I gotta get back to work." At the door she turned around. "Let me know if you have any further information, okay?"

"Will do." Jake was grateful for her willingness to help, knowing it'd be like trying to locate the proverbial needle in a haystack―after a tornado had blown said haystack apart.

The deep rumble of motor engines distracted him from the challenge of locating Anna's parents. A row of trucks had come rolling up the road and stopped at the camp's gate. Armed men filled the cab of the first one. More Ravenwood troops. Jake pressed his lips together, not particularly pleased to see them. _Better get used to it,_ he told himself; Ravenwood was clearly helping FEMA to run the camp. The good news was, as long as they were busy trucking in food, they wouldn't be hunting for him or Anna. And if San Diego had been among the cities that had been attacked, the guys back there would also have more important things to think about—assuming they'd even survived.

The driver of the first truck handed a clipboard to the guard at the gate, who glanced briefly at it, stepped back and waved the trucks through. People had begun appearing from deeper inside the camp, drawn by the grumble of engines, Jake guessed. They surged closer as the first truck slowly trundled through the gate, followed by the rest.

"Get back! Get back!" The National Guards pushed people aside, trying to clear a path. "Let them through."

"What's all this?" Jake asked a man who was also watching the melee.

"Food convoy." The guy gestured at the crowds. "They come in every other day, but it's never enough. We got too many people." He shifted his focus back to Jake. "There's bound to be trouble some day." Without waiting for a response from Jake, he threw himself into the throng. Observing the crowd pushing up behind the trucks as the convoy stopped near the kitchens, with the guardsmen barely holding them back, Jake was afraid he was probably right.

o0o

Finding himself out of further ideas for how to help Anna, Jake reluctantly returned to the tent. There, he made numerous attempts over the day to draw her out of her depression, none of them successful. Molly had given her the secret cure for morning sickness, and it had proved effective enough that she'd reluctantly nibbled on a bread roll as Jake tried to share his dinner ration. But she'd merely listened silently to his proposal she put up a memo to ask for news about her parents, refusing to either take action or outright refuse.

"You should go see one of the doctors tomorrow," he suggested later in the evening, settling on the thin mattress beside her. "Especially if you're feeling sick."

The big floodlights hadn't been extinguished yet, making it easy for him to see her without the aid of the flashlight. She rolled a shoulder noncommittally, and turned her back on him.

"Anna―." Exasperated, he swallowed the rest of his argument and flopped onto his back beside her. Perhaps now wasn't the best time to have this conversation, anyway. Soft snoring was drifting through from the other side of the dividing curtain: the Ginsbergers had turned in early and he didn't want to risk waking them up.

He turned his thoughts back to Anna. She'd changed so much from the strong, resilient woman he'd come to know that he hardly recognized her any more. For all she'd been terrified when Freddy died, she'd refused to give in to despair, even after the bomb that took out Dallas or during the hard trek south or when they'd been chased by that road gang. His mouth curved into a smile at the memory of her coolly aiming the flare gun and firing it to create maximum damage. But losing her family had been the final straw.

Maybe she'd feel better in the morning... He huffed silently. Yeah, fat chance. What she'd been through would take more than a good night's sleep and a doctor's visit to fix. He scratched absently at the stubble on his chin: he also knew from bitter experience that dwelling on your grief—wallowing in your misery—didn't do much to help either.

Outside, the camp had grown much quieter. With a soft _pop_, the last of the lights went out. Abruptly, the tent was thrown into complete darkness. Jake blinked, unable for a minute to see the hand he held up in front of his face. Slowly, his sight adjusted, so that if he tilted his head, he could make out the rounded shape of Anna's shoulder under the blanket against the lighter canvas. From the other side of the tent, Henry's snoring still punctuated the silence. And Jake wasn't any closer to sleep than when he'd crawled up onto the cot.

He rolled onto his side so he could curl his body around Anna. She was asleep now, her chest rising and falling slowly, and he was grateful for that. Perhaps sleep would allow her to forget for a few hours and give her a little peace.

Slipping one palm under his cheek to cradle his head, he considered his own options. He sure as hell couldn't go on to Jericho with Anna like this, much as he wanted to. He wished he could get a message to his parents, though. His dad might still hate him, but his mom would be sick with worry, like those people who'd put up their photos and messages on the wall.

He huffed again. It was as if fate had conspired to keep him from getting to Jericho every step of the way: fulfill his promise to Freddy by getting Anna on the bus from Albuquerque; travel with her until he was sure she got to her family safely; then the attack on Dallas had happened, followed by the long hike, and learning what had happened to Houston. Finally, they'd gotten scooped up in Brenham and brought here. He'd hoped she'd be safe at the camp and that he'd only have to stick around for a few days until she was settled. But now...? He couldn't abandon her.

The arm he was using as a pillow had grown numb, so he rolled onto his back and shook his hand to reduce the tingling as the blood flow was restored. Getting Anna to see a doctor wasn't enough, he realized. He'd discovered during the day that the medical staff assigned to Camp Austin also included psychologists and grief counselors. He should convince her to talk to one of them, if she wouldn't talk to him.

o0o

Jake was enough of a realist not to expect Anna's grief to pass overnight. But it was disheartening to discover the following morning, when he woke from a fitful night of not enough sleep, that nothing had changed: Anna persisted in refusing to get up.

Not knowing what else to do, he again brought his bowl of porridge back to the tent to share with her―the oatmeal giving the impression it was even more watered-down than the day before―and she again ignored him.

At his wits' end, he pleaded with her, "C'mon Anna, please. I know it's horrible, but you need to eat." Setting the bowl down carefully near the foot of the cot, he rubbed the back of his neck. He felt like he was beginning to resemble a broken record. "And after, we'll go see a doctor and make sure everything's okay."

"Why?" Anna rolled over and peered up at him. Her eyes were dull and filled with misery. "What's the point?"

While he was glad he'd finally got some kind of response out of her, Jake boggled at her answer. "What's the point?" he repeated incredulously. She couldn't be serious, could she? They'd done everything they could to allow her to eat as healthily as possible these last weeks. "You have to take care of yourself."

"Everyone I know is dead, Jake. Freddy, my parents, my sisters. Who gives a damn what I do?"

"I do." Jake offered her a hand to help her sit up.

Anna barked out a harsh laugh. "You?" She ignored his hand. "You just feel guilty about Freddy. If it wasn't for you, he'd still be alive."

Her words took his breath away, as if a fist had slammed into his chest. "You blame me for Freddy?" he asked softly. For a moment, he was back in his apartment, feeling the hot, sticky blood on his hands, seeing Freddy blowing out his final breath while he watched helplessly. Had there been anything he could've done to prevent it? He swallowed. "Freddy got involved with Ravenwood on his own. I warned him not to." But Freddy had never been good at listening to Jake, had he?

Anna sat up, flinging off the covers. "And if you'd helped him, if you'd gone with him, like I asked you to―."

A small voice in the back of his mind warned Jake it was her heartache doing the talking, but he didn't listen to it. "You'd be dead, too," he interrupted her harshly. If he and Freddy had taken the job with Ravenwood as planned, Anna would've been in San Diego, at the bar, when the bombs went off. His stomach turned over.

"That would've been better."

Jake reeled from the naked pain in her voice. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his brief flare of anger already gone. "To die too? What about the baby?"

Anna flinched visibly at the reminder. Her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I want it to stop," she whispered. "It hurts so bad..."

The last of Jake's irritation vanished. "Yeah. I get it." He didn't, not really. He couldn't. His family was safe in Jericho, no doubt with Dad holding the town together and Sheriff Dawes keeping the peace. "I'm sorry."

Gathering her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them tightly, and sobbed into the crook of her elbow. Jake sat next to her on the cot, resting a hand lightly on her back to signal he was there, and let her cry.

At last her crying died down to just the occasional racking sob and she lifted her head. Now that she was quiet, Jake could catch the sound of Molly and Henry talking on the other side of the curtain, their voices too low for him to make out what they were saying. Hearing them was a shock; he'd completely forgotten they were there.

"Jake?"

Molly twitched the curtain aside and held out a steaming mug. From her cautious expression as she looked at Jake, he could tell she'd heard the argument with Anna.

"I couldn't help but eavesdrop," she confirmed, her tone apologetic. "I brought tea." She gave them a slight smile. "Tea makes everything better."

Anna hiccuped a soggy laugh. To Jake's relief, she accepted the mug when he took it from Molly and passed it on to her. She curled her fingers around it, warming them, although it wasn't really cold in the tent now. From the quality of the light, Jake reckoned the sun must be out and heating up the air.

"Thank you." Anna muttered the words over the edge of the mug as she blew air across the tea, cooling it enough to drink.

"You're welcome, dear." Molly stepped further into their part of the tent. "Your young man told me about what happened. I am so sorry." Anna blinked rapidly. "But he's right: you have to eat, and you should go see a doctor. You need to stay strong and healthy for your baby."

Anna lifted her gaze to meet Molly's, her eyes red and puffy. Jake braced himself, expecting her to withdraw into her shell and tell them all to leave her alone. But she didn't; instead, she nodded shakily. Molly's features softened with an encouraging smile.

"Don't despair yet, sweetie. We'll pray for you, me and Henry, that God has spared your family. And unless and until there's official confirmation, we'll believe He has, okay?"

Anna's bottom lip trembled. "Yes," she whispered. Jake swallowed the lump that blocked his own throat, barely daring to breathe.

Jake ate his oatmeal while Anna finished up the tea. He took the mug back to the other side of the tent to return it to Molly. "Thank you, for this and―." He gestured awkwardly. She acknowledged his unspoken thanks for the comfort she'd offered Anna with a pat on his hand. "How did you...?" He dipped his head at the empty mug.

Molly's eyes crinkled mischievously and she planted a finger on her lips. "Shh. We brought our camping stove. But don't tell anyone. We're not supposed to have them in the tents. Fire hazard, they say." She shrugged lightly. "The cylinder's nearly empty, anyway."

Jake chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me."

Molly snorted. "Now, go get your wife seen by a doctor."

"Yes ma'am." He ducked back through the curtain to see Anna had climbed off the cot and was tying up her boots. He watched her a moment, immensely grateful to Molly and her tea. Anna's grief hadn't lessened―her pale features and red eyes were visible proof of her pain―but at least she was up and willing to try. She finished tying her laces and straightened. Not quite looking at him, she muttered, "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not." He stepped closer and hugged her. "You're the bravest woman I know."

o0o

They were still serving breakfast—just: all that was left were dregs of oatmeal scraped from the bottom of the pot—when Jake and Anna reached the mess hall. Jake couldn't help shooting the cook a triumphant glare as the man scooped the porridge into Anna's bowl, but he either didn't recognize Jake or didn't care.

Anna managed to finish most of her serving, though she struggled visibly to swallow the viscous goo. Jake didn't press the point once she said she couldn't eat another spoonful and pushed the bowl away. Their next stop was the medical facility. It wasn't far; the camp's builders had put all the communal structures―administration building, mess hall, washrooms―close together, either to make it easier for everyone to find them or easier for FEMA to supply them.

Its location turned out to be pretty much the only advantage the Camp Austin med center boasted. It had to be one of the dreariest hospitals Jake had ever walked into, and he'd seen some sad places in his time. Glancing around at the dull green vinyl floor and the cheap plastic chairs, he was reminded unpleasantly of the field hospitals in Iraq. The place even smelled the same: a mixture of blood and antiseptic and other unpleasant substances. It brought back memories Jake would have rather stayed buried. As he planted his butt in a chair beside Anna, he caught himself touching his hip. The jagged scar hidden beneath his jeans, a physical reminder of his time in Iraq, itched with phantom pain. Freddy had saved his life that day, when Jake had thought he was going to die―and now here he was, while Freddy was dead...

He snuck a glance sideways at Anna. Did she really believe it was his fault Freddy had been killed? Deep down, Jake wouldn't disagree if she did. He should never have let Freddy out of his sight. Not after Freddy had agreed to work for Ravenwood. And especially not after Hicks had shown up at Jake's apartment and threatened to rat them out as informants if Jake didn't do as he wanted. Jake had only agreed to Hicks's scheme to buy time to figure out what to do. And Ravenwood must've somehow gotten wind they were gonna make a run for it and tracked down Freddy.

And then Freddy had died on Jake's floor...

Jake swallowed hard at the memory. Forcing it away, he tried instead to make conversation with Anna, not very successfully: she gave him single-syllable answers when she answered at all. The whole time, she sat stiffly in her chair, her gaze fixed unseeingly on the far wall. _Survivor's guilt_, they'd called it in Iraq, referring to those soldiers who'd lost their entire squad to an IED or in an ambush but had themselves survived through some weird trick of fate.

Making another attempt to draw her out, he touched her lightly on the arm. "Can I get you anything? Water?"

Blinking, she slowly focused on him. "Before. I didn't really mean―." She gestured at her stomach.

"Hush," he interrupted her, smiling. "I know, okay?" He squeezed her knee and she rewarded him with a brittle smile of her own. It lightened his heart to see it.

They still didn't talk much after that, but the silence between them was easier as the minutes ticked slowly by and they went on waiting to be seen. The med center was evidently too small for the sheer number of refugees in the camp and it was well past noon by the time a nurse stepped into the waiting area and called out, "Anna Gomez Green".

Jake started awake from the slumber he'd sunken into, for an instant forgetting they were trying to keep up the pretense of being married. He followed after Anna as she got to her feet and told the nurse, "That's me."

The nurse, an older woman with a no-nonsense attitude, pulled the thin cotton screen curtain that screened them closed around them as they joined her in the treatment cubicle. "Mr and Mrs Green. What can I do for you?"

Jake shot Anna a glance. She didn't respond—maybe she didn't even know where to start—so he told the nurse, "She's pregnant. We've been walking for weeks, and I'm worried―."

"Did you come from Houston?" The nurse frowned as she asked the question, making a note on her clipboard.

"Um, no." The nurse looked up and Jake explained, "We were in northern Texas when the attacks happened. I don't think we were exposed to any radiation." At least, God, he hoped not. "But Anna's not been feeling well, and―."

"Alright." Again, the nurse didn't let him finish. "How far along are you?" The last was directed at Anna.

"Two months, I think...?" Anna mulled it over. "No, almost three now."

"I see. Hop on up," the nurse gestured to the bed, "and we'll give you a look-over." She waited until Anna was comfortable on the bed and then put a blood pressure cuff around her bicep. Jake watched as she puffed it up and slowly let it deflate. She nodded with satisfaction and made another note, before counting Anna's heart rate. More nodding, more notes, more questions fired in Anna's direction.

"Everything okay?" Jake asked, when the nurse—now adding more scribbles on her chart, punctuated by the occasional "mmm-hmm"—didn't seem inclined to offer any information of her own.

"Far as I can tell, your wife's doing fine, Mr Green." She gave him an disapproving look. For having interrupted her, Jake assumed, but he didn't care. She made a final mark on the chart. "I'll get the ultrasound machine, and the technician." Not giving them a chance to reply, she disappeared through the curtain, her footfalls clumping away across the linoleum floor.

Jake met Anna's gaze, and she gave him the tiniest of shrugs. Jake grinned back. The nurse needed to work on her bedside manner and the exam had been on the cursory side, but the news she'd given them was welcome, and for that he was grateful.

His gratitude morphed into irritation as the minutes ticked by and the promised ultrasound machine didn't show. He admonished himself to be patient: he knew the clinic was understaffed and overwhelmed. But forty-five minutes later, by his own count, he was ready to leave Anna and go find out what was taking them so long.

As if someone could sense he was nearing the end of his patience, the exact second he was about to open his mouth to tell Anna his intentions, the curtain was ripped aside and a new nurse came in. She was wheeling a small cart with some equipment on it: the ultrasound machine, Jake assumed. She was at least two decades younger than the nurse who had first seen Anna, and decidedly more cheerful.

"Hey there," she greeted them with a bright smile, pushing the cart into position near the bed. "I hear you two are expecting."

Though he was unwilling to take credit for something he had no part of, Jake didn't correct her.

"Let's check everything's coming along as it should be." She ushered Jake aside so she could take his place beside the bed, leaving him to hover near the foot. Voices drifted through the curtain from outside, but Jake tuned them out while he watched the nurse preparing Anna for the procedure. Now he had a chance to look at her properly, she looked barely old enough to have graduated high school, but she appeared to know what she was doing. And unlike her older co-worker, she was explaining what she was doing with every step.

However, as she finally reached over to switch on the machine, Jake took a step forward. "Shouldn't we wait for the doctor?"

She peered at him over her shoulder, regarding him with the kind of wary expression that asked, _Are you gonna be trouble_? "Mr...?"

"Green," Jake supplied.

"Mr. Green, as you may have noticed, we're short on staff."

"But―."

"Jake, it's alright," Anna broke in. Giving in, Jake fanned out his hands for the nurse to show he hadn't meant to give offense.

She straightened, looking from Jake to Anna and back to Jake again. "First baby?" As they confirmed that it was, the wary expression faded a touch, sympathy replacing it. "Don't worry, this is perfectly safe, for mother and child. And I may not be a doctor, but I am qualified to operate the ultrasound. If I suspect there's anything―_anything―_not as it should be, I'll get the doctor. Okay?"

"I'm concerned, is all," Jake offered as an olive branch of his own. He couldn't expect the same level of care in the camp's medical facility as he would've gotten in a big city hospital―or even in Jericho. He should be grateful they had access to medical care at all.

The nurse smiled more warmly, accepting the apology. "I fully understand, Mr Green. I'm sure everything'll turn out fine." She activated the ultrasound machine, and placed the probe on Anna's belly.

A minute later, she said, "See there," and pointed at a tiny blob on the small screen. "That's the baby."

Fascinated, Jake leaned forward for a better view, putting his fists on the mattress on either side of Anna's knees. To him, the image consisted of random splotches of black and white and gray, so he took his cue from the nurse's relaxed manner as she moved the probe around over Anna's stomach, squinting at the screen fixedly as she did so.

"Ah." The nurse let out a small sound of triumph. "See that there? That's the baby's heart beat."

All Jake could make out was a small dot that fluttered at a rapid pace, but as he glanced over at Anna, he couldn't hold back a smile. She was staring at the small screen, wonder on her face and her eyes sparkling with more enthusiasm than he'd seen in days. "Can―Can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?" she asked.

"That's trickier." The nurse knitted her brow, concentrating on the images for a minute or two more. At last she sighed and switched off the machine. "You'll have to wait until you're further along for that. And even then, it's not always a sure bet." She collected a handful of tissues and wiped off the remnants of jelly she'd squirted on Anna's belly. "I'd say everything's going well so far, with you and the baby, so," she grinned, "in six months' time, you'll find out for certain."

Anna tugged her shirt down and struggled to sit up straighter, more emotions than Jake could decipher flitting across her face. He could make a decent guess, though. Fear, uncertainty and doubt, for sure. Six months was a long time, and considering the changes they'd lived through in the past weeks, a lot could happen. Anna had to be scared to death at the prospect of having a child in the current circumstances.

He smiled at her encouragingly, the promise he'd be there on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it down at the last moment, his smile going sour. It wouldn't be fair to tell her that. Not fair to himself to extend his promise to Freddy that far, and thus not fair to her. He didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. But the resigned set of her shoulders made him wish he could've made that promise.

"We'll see about getting you some vitamin supplements," the nurse went on blithely, "'cause the food here―. Well." She rolled her eyes. "And you should come in for regular check-ups. But I'm sure you'll continue to be fine."

From the look on Anna's face, Jake could tell she was far less certain about it than the nurse.

o0o

_Four _presidents? Jake blinked in disbelief as he read the headlines pasted onto the camp bulletin board, jostling for space with official FEMA bulletins talking about office hours or counseling options or requesting volunteers to help out with various camp jobs. It had become a daily habit for him to check for the latest news, gathered from the trickle of fresh arrivals or picked up from the guards and staff. He never knew if what got posted was proven fact or hearsay, but it was hardly ever positive. And four men claiming to be the President of the United States was definitely bad. If they couldn't figure out the rightful successor, who the heck was in charge? The country had fallen into deeper chaos than he'd ever dreamed possible.

And if the rumors flying around the camp were to be believed, there'd soon be a fifth contender staking a claim: Texas's own Governor Todd was widely believed to be throwing his own hat into the ring any day now. "Todd'll show them damned upstarts, lemme tell ya," Jake overhead one man telling his wife in a heavy Texan accent. She'd lowered her head dully, two young children clinging to her legs, their eyes as empty as hers as they sucked their thumbs. It was obvious to Jake she couldn't care less who the president was, as long as he took care of her and her family.

As far as Jake knew, Todd hadn't given any indication he was going to join the fray. And to be honest, with both Dallas and Houston, two of the state's major cities, gone, and hundreds of thousands displaced and living in camps like this one, the governor likely had his hands full with his own state, and wasn't gonna bother with the rest of the country.

"Hard to believe, ain't it?" A woman next to Jake jerked a thumb at the list of other cities that had been confirmed hit. So far, the toll had risen to fifteen.

"It is." Jake shuddered in the evening chill as he scanned the list. Chicago, Detroit, Atlanta... Cities with millions of people each.

Not wanting to dwell on how many lives had been lost, Jake applied himself to reading the rest of the bulletins, trying to separate truth from fiction. He relished the single piece of good news among all the bad, his eyes drifting involuntarily back to the lines of text several times, as if he was afraid he'd misread them. But the news remained unchanged: New York had miraculously escaped, the authorities having intercepted the bomb meant for Manhattan at the very last minute. Jake desperately wanted it to be true, although it was also said the terrorist they'd arrested had been pretending to be an FBI agent.

So far, though, nobody had a clue who was behind the attacks: North Korea was being blamed, along with Iran... Some people said it had been China; others were arguing it was Al-Qaeda. As for the explosion that caused the EMP, nobody had yet figured out what to make of that. Meanwhile, the United Nations seemed paralyzed; most member states had called their personnel home and the US ambassador no longer seemed sure who he was representing in the Security Council. Jake couldn't blame the guy. Not with four men calling themselves 'President'.

At last, he stepped away from the board. He didn't give a damn about the politics, or who'd plotted the attacks. He had more immediate matters to deal with. Like Anna. To his relief, she'd carried on going with him to the mess hall at meal times. Otherwise, though, she still stayed mostly in the tent, napping on the cot―not that there was much else to do―and it didn't take a star psychiatrist to see how badly she was hurting.

He wished he knew how to help her. He'd talked to one of the Red Cross counselors at the clinic, a sad-faced older man with hair sprouting from his ears. He'd told Jake there wasn't much to be done, other than for Jake to listen and let her talk. "It sounds cliche, but it's also true: time heals," the counselor had said. "Best thing you can do is be there for her when she needs a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to cry on." Jake had left the clinic feeling more helpless than when he'd gone in.

He walked over from the news board to the Wall. He no longer had to peer over the heads of others to check the notices; as the days passed, the number of readers had slowed to a handful. It was even worse today: it had rained earlier in the afternoon, a slow, fat drizzle that had left the Wall a miserable mess of soggy paper and running ink. Jake scanned the soaked notes, wanting to verify Anna's hadn't been blown away or become unreadable. He spotted it quickly, a bit worse for wear but exactly where he'd tacked it four days ago. _Anna Gomez is seeking her parents, Jesus and Maria Gomez from Settegast Park, Houston..._

The chances her parents had survived the bomb were slim, but writing the note had been one of the very few practical things he could do. He hadn't wanted to give up on it without even trying, so he'd pressed her for the details.

"Jake, don't bother." She'd uttered a tearful hiccup. "My parents lived right east of downtown."

He heard what she wasn't saying: if they hadn't died in the initial blast, the prevailing wind would've blown the fall-out right over them. He'd refused to admit defeat: it was possible her parents hadn't been home at the time of the explosion, so he'd urged her to, "Humor me, okay?"

She'd shrugged again, but at least told him enough about her family that he could put together a short message. "I was born in Houston. Did Freddy tell you?" Pencil poised over the piece of paper Julie-Anne had given him, Jake lifted his head, startled. Anna wasn't looking at him; she was picking at the blanket as she spoke. "We moved to San Diego when I was little. My dad worked for the Navy. After he retired, Mom and Dad moved back to Houston, to take care of my grandparents. Me and my sisters, we stayed in San Diego."

It was the first time she spoke of her sisters since they'd learned the truth about San Diego, and Jake hardly dared breathe.

"Paula was a jewelry designer. Sophie, my youngest sister, was in college. Gonna be the first college graduate in the family. My dad was so proud of her. We all were." Anna's voice had grown more and more subdued while she spoke, until Jake had to strain to make out the whispered words. She glanced up finally, tears glimmering in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about them any more."

Jake had dipped his head in understanding, the lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything. He'd finished writing the memo with the details she'd provided and gone to thumbtack it onto the Wall.

Having confirmed Anna's plea was still legible, he considered grabbing a shower. It was early in the evening and there should be warm water left. He'd quickly discovered that the later it got, the colder the water got. Unfortunately, everyone else had figured that out as well; with the evening meal over, people were scurrying to and fro. And Jake wasn't in the mood to stand in yet another line.

He snorted. Seemed that was all he did these days: wait in line for breakfast; queue up for water rations; shuffle in a slow-moving file to dinner...

Yawning, he scratched his neck. No, best he wait an hour. The water would be cold, but he'd enjoy the solitude of the empty washrooms, a temporary oasis of quiet in the constant hubbub of the jam-packed camp.

With nothing else to do until then, he peered back up at the Wall. The floodlights provided plenty of light for him to read the damp notices now dusk had fallen. He had no idea what he was hoping to discover―news of Anna's family was high on his list―but he'd resolved to spend time at the Wall every day until he'd seen every scrap of paper tacked up there.

He continued scanning the notes and pictures until the despair that oozed from the Wall soured the thin cabbage soup they'd served for dinner in his stomach. A small number of people were still out and about, but the numbers had thinned. With no entertainment―no TV, no restaurants, no theaters―everyone went to bed early. It should be quiet at the showers by the time he'd swung by the tent and grabbed a towel.

In their tent, Molly had used the last of the propane in her camping stove to brew a final cup of tea to share with Anna. They'd pushed the dividing curtain aside, so they could each sit on their own cots and still talk. Henry wasn't there; the old man always took a stroll through the camp before turning in. "Clears my mind," he'd told Jake. "Helps me sleep."

Jake smiled at the two women, glad that Anna had found such a good friend in the older woman. It was one of the few pieces of good luck they'd had; they could certainly have done a lot worse for tent mates than Molly and Henry. Over the past days, he'd learned they'd been evacuated from a farm ten miles east of Brenham and that they had no children or grandchildren.

Waving away Molly's apology that she hadn't any tea left to offer him, he flung his towel around his neck, and rummaged around for the small bar of soap they'd been provided with on their second day in camp.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Anna dipped her head in acknowledgment and blew into the hot tea to cool it.

Jake turned away to leave but Molly stopped him. "Jake. Can you do me a favor?" She winced as she clambered to her feet.

Jake frowned. "You okay?" He'd noted Molly's movement was quite often stiff, especially in the mornings right after she got up.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." She dismissively waved off his offer of a supporting hand. "Just my old bones acting up. It's the damp from the rain, see."

"So, what's the favor?"

Molly gathered up a pair of mismatched water bottles. "Can you take these in for me?"

"Sure." Jake took the empty bottles from her. The depot to leave empties for recycling wasn't far from the washrooms, and it'd be no bother for him to drop the bottles off.

"Thank you." She patted his arm. "You're a dear."

Jake ducked his head. "No problem." Every other day, trucks rolled in loaded with plastic bottles in all shapes and sizes, from half-liter sports bottles to the heavy containers normally used in office water coolers. Jake had no idea where FEMA was getting the water from, but the transports were the only source of drinking water in the camp, and he dreaded the day the trucks wouldn't come.

o0o


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Jake dropped off the empty bottles and walked on toward the showers. As he'd hoped, they were largely deserted. He quickly washed up, shivering under water that felt as cold as if it had come straight from the river. He warmed up by toweling off vigorously; the goosebumps were gone by the time he scooted back into his clothes.

Gathering up the wet towel in one hand and clutching the soap in the other, he hopped down the steps of the washrooms. The main track was largely deserted, the few people still visible scurrying along. Without a working watch, Jake couldn't tell the exact time, but it looked like the lights would be switched off any minute. He picked up his own pace; he didn't fancy floundering around in the dark or running into another nervous soldier.

As he was turning into the lane that led to his tent, someone called his name. "Jake?"

Startled and a little surprised, Jake swung toward the voice, half-expecting whoever it was to be addressing someone else. After all, who would recognize him here?

Squinting into the gloom, he saw two women were approaching him from between two rows of tents to his right. With the nearest floodlight behind them, he couldn't make out their faces, but they were definitely looking at him, though one of the pair seemed more hesitant than the other.

"Is it really you?"

Something about the voice―a girl's voice, not a woman's―tickled at the back of Jake's mind, but it wasn't until she walked into the circle of light cast by the next floodlight that he made the connection. He blinked. "Robin?"

Her eyes glittered with delight. "Jake!" Without warning, she flung her arms around his neck.

"Oomph..." The air rushed out of Jake and he tottered back under the impact. With his hands full, he wasn't able to catch her and steady them both.

"You made it!" Robin let go of him and regained her own feet. She peered around searchingly. "Where's Anna?"

"At the tent." Jake looked Robin up and down, shaking his head. He couldn't believe it. What were the odds of bumping into her among thousands of others—and hundreds of miles from where they said goodbye? She was skinnier than he remembered, and perhaps more wary than the naive, curious teenager from the bus. Otherwise she looked fine. Healthy, whole... Wanting to be sure, he added, "Are you okay?" Letting her go off in a stolen car with a man they knew nothing about beyond the fact he had loose morals regarding other people's property had sat heavily on his mind. Having seen the state of the roads outside Vernon and having narrowly escaped a road gang ambush himself, he'd feared the worst for her. He'd done his best to put her from his mind, telling himself it was useless to fret, since he'd never find out what had happened to her. But even if the rest of the world was going to hell, it would appear as if small miracles were possible.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Robin beamed up at him, so pleased to see him she'd evidently forgotten they hadn't parted on the best of terms. "Oh!" she exclaimed, flapping a hand toward the other woman, who'd remained a step or two behind her, watching. "Jake, this is my mom. Mom, this is Jake. I told you about him. From the bus."

The woman's guarded expression softened as her daughter explained who Jake was. She was a handsome figure, a couple inches taller and a few pounds heavier than Robin, with crow's feet around her eyes. She offered Jake a slight smile and he could see the family resemblance. "You're the man who took care of Robin after she was hurt." It wasn't a question.

"Um." Jake grinned self-consciously. "I guess I am."

"I'm Helen." She stuck out her hand. Jake juggled the soap into his left hand and wiped his right hand on the towel before he accepted the handshake. "I'm very happy to meet you. If not for you―." A hint of bitterness crept into her tone as she added, "I'll never forgive that no-good ex-husband of mine for dumping our daughter on a bus on her own."

"Mo-om!" Robin protested. "Dad didn't 'dump' me." They sounded like they'd had this argument several times already. "I told you: he had to go on a trip. And if he hadn't, I'd be dead."

Helen flinched visibly, and Jake shuffled his feet, wishing he was somewhere else. Lips pressed tightly together, she stared at her daughter, before she gave herself a shake and looked back at Jake. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, thank you."

Under her sharp gaze, Jake lifted a shoulder, and mumbled, "Anyone would've done the same."

An awkward silence fell, the soft hiss of the floodlights and the ever-present hum of the camp serving to underscore it. "Um, I should―." Jake gestured vaguely in the direction he'd been heading.

"Yes. Of course." Helen stepped aside to let him pass.

"Jake, wait," Robin grabbed his sleeve. "I wanna come, say hello to Anna and tell her I'm okay." She pleaded with her mother, "Can I? Please?"

Helen's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow, okay? It's getting late. We shouldn't be out any longer."

Robin's mouth pursed and she stiffened her shoulders, preparing to argue.

"Your mom's right," Jake said quickly. "And Anna'll be asleep anyway. Why don't you drop by in the morning, and you and she can catch up properly?" There was a chance seeing Robin would help Anna feel better. They'd gotten along well before, and Jake was certain Anna would be happy to hear Robin was all right.

Robin heaved a sigh, only slightly exaggerated. "Okay."

Jake told her the tent number so she'd be able to find them in the morning and wished her and her mother a good night. Leaving them to head back to their own accommodation, he hurried the remaining hundred yards to his tent. He barely reached before the camp was plunged in darkness, and he had to make his way past the curtain by touch, the tent dark and quiet except for Henry's snoring. He tiptoed around to put away the towel and soap, kicked off his boots, and lifted the blanket to crawl into bed.

Anna mumbled something as the cot shook under him.

"Anna? Are you asleep?" Jake kept his voice low so he wouldn't wake Henry or Molly.

"Mm-mm." She made an incoherent sound in response, and he smiled in the darkness.

Too excited about the good news to keep it to himself until morning, he whispered, "Guess who I ran into?" He wriggled further under the blanket, trying get comfortable. "Robin. She's found her mother, and they're here too. In the camp."

"Who?" Anna snuggled closer, into his warmth, and Jake accepted her body against his happily. It was a welcome improvement over the cloak of distant cold she'd kept herself wrapped in for the first couple nights after they'd arrived in the camp.

"The girl we took to the hospital in Vernon." Jake tucked the blanket more tightly around them. Given today's rain, he could tell it was going to be a raw night.

"Oh..." Anna was silent for so long Jake thought she'd fallen back asleep. Then she twisted around until she was facing him. "Wasn't her mom in Houston?"

"That's what she told us, yes."

Anna raised herself onto one elbow. "She survived the attack? How?" It was too dark in the tent to make out anything beyond the pale oval of her face, but Jake didn't need to see her to detect the sudden, naked hope in her voice.

"I didn't ask," he admitted. "You can ask her yourself. They said they'd be by to say hello in the morning." The implications of Robin having been reunited with her mother hadn't even occurred to him yet, and he didn't want Anna to get her hopes up too high. Yet if Robin's mother had survived the bomb that destroyed Houston and had found her daughter, who was to say that Anna's mother might not do the same?

o0o

"Jake?" Robin's voice was uncertain as she called his name from outside the tent. "Anna?"

At the sound of her name, Anna blinked open her eyes. She was suffering one of her poorer days and she'd flopped down onto the cot as soon as they'd returned from breakfast. Jake caught her eye, inquiring silently if she was up to visitors. She gave him a weak smile and a nod. "Could you ask them in?"

On the other side of the tent, behind the partly-folded back curtain, Molly was poking through her possessions, looking for her miracle cure for Anna's nausea. She must've involuntarily eavesdropped on them again, because she assured Jake over her shoulder, "Yes, yes, don't keep them waiting out there. We don't mind, do we, Henry?"

Henry, sitting on the cot, dipped his head in Jake's direction, obediently confirming he was happy with his wife's statement. Chuckling, Jake ducked out of the tent. Outside, Robin and her mother were arguing quietly. Relief washed over Robin's face as Jake appeared.

"Hey." He grinned at Robin.

"Knock knock." She laughed a little self-consciously. "See, Mom, it _was_ this one." She turned back to Jake and explained, "We weren't sure we had the right tent."

Jake huffed wryly in response. He might've given them the tent and row number, but their tent was exactly the same as the several dozen stretching away in all directions around them. Easy to get confused. "You got it. This is us. Morning." The last was directed at Helen, who muttered a similar greeting in response.

"Is Anna here too?" With the hellos exchanged, Robin was trying to peer around Jake into the tent. "It's so cool to see you guys! Everyone's so mopey."

Jake laughed, waving off Helen's quiet warning of, "Robin!" He held aside the flap, inviting them both in. "Come on. I think Anna's been looking forward to seeing you, too."

Robin ducked through. She stopped short when she saw Molly and Henry, obviously not expecting any strangers. "Oh. Um, hi."

"Hello, sweetie." Molly smiled kindly at Robin. "Jake said you and your mom might be stopping by. Is this your mother?"

"Um, yeah."

"Helen Holt," Helen took pity on her flustered daughter. "And this is Robin." She held out her hand and Molly took it.

While Jake performed the rest of the introductions between the Ginsbergers and Helen, Robin spotted Anna sitting on the cot and dashed over to her. Catching sight of the bright expression on Anna's face as Robin hugged her tight, Jake smiled to himself: he'd been right; this visit was going to be a good thing.

He wasn't so convinced of that five minutes later, though. With the introductions done, Molly had ushered Henry out of the tent ahead of her, declaring they had errands to run. Jake suspected it was an excuse to give them time alone with their visitors. Once again he was grateful how they'd lucked out with their tent mates, and wished he could somehow return the favor.

"How did you and Jake get a tent?" Robin asked. "They put me and Mom in a stupid dorm." She rolled her eyes. "There's a really fat woman in the bed next to ours, and you wouldn't believe how loud she snores."

Anna chuckled. "You haven't heard Henry yet."

Robin snorted, not so easily appeased. "I wish we had a tent too. Right, Mom?"

"Be glad you have a roof over your head." Helen shrugged. "And you know the tents are for big families and married couples."

Jake, who was resting on his haunches near the cot as he listened to the women talk, choked on the sip of water he'd been taking. After having told so many people so often that Anna was his wife, he'd grown used to keeping up the ruse―nobody here knew any better―but he'd told Robin they weren't married. Should he say anything, warn her not to spoil the secret? If FEMA found out he'd lied to them, he and Anna might be separated.

A wrinkle cut across Robin's brow. "But―."Jake gave her a quick shake. Her frown deepened, and for a second he was worried she didn't understand. Then her features smoothed over. However, Jake's relief was short-lived.

"Are they your mom and dad?" Robin indicated the cot on the other side of the tent. How she ever got it in her head Molly and Henry were related to Anna, Jake couldn't fathom. They didn't resemble Anna at all.

"No..." Anna's words were barely audible, even to Jake, as her features abruptly clouded over with fresh grief. "They're―." Her voice shook.

Jake leaned forward. "We met Molly and Henry at the camp. They said there weren't enough tents for everyone so we had to share." He mentally berated himself for not explaining the situation to Robin and Helen before letting them meet Anna. She was in a fragile enough state as it was and didn't need to be so painfully reminded of what might have become of her family. "We're... We don't know what happened to Anna's parents or where they are."

"Goodness, Robin!" Helen had realized what Jake wasn't saying. "Think before you speak, will you?"

Robin dashed a bewildered look from Jake to her mother and then in Anna's direction. "Oh..." Her blue eyes grew round. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Anna cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, offering Robin a shaky smile of reassurance. Jake exhaled in relief; she was handling it better than he'd expected.

"Did you see if there's anything on the Wall?" Robin drew one leg up under her on the cot beside Anna, plucking idly at the blanket. "Your mom and dad could be on there."

Sensing that Helen was about to reprimand Robin again, Jake threw her a quick shake of the head. Robin's question was well-meant, and perhaps her guilelessness could achieve what Jake's carefully tiptoeing around the subject hadn't.

"No, I didn't." Anna pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Jake's put up a note, but we haven't heard anything." She tilted her face up toward Helen, who was standing at the foot of the cot, her hands clasped in front of her, tense as if she was ready to snatch Robin with her and away out of the tent. "You're from Houston, aren't you?" At Helen's wary confirmation, she added, "How did you make it out?"

Helen stared down at her hands, avoiding Anna's eye, and Jake could tell she was uncomfortable about answering. "I wasn't in Houston during the explosion. I was over at a friend's, in Eagle Lake. We were among the first to be evacuated, and Robin's ride had dropped her off with the Red Cross in Round Rock. We both ended up here shortly after, but it wasn't so crowded at first." She darted a glance at Jake and cleared her throat. "Some got out of the city alive, though. Maybe―." _Maybe you'll get lucky too._

There was a lengthy pause after Helen stopped speaking, the silence in the tent heavy. Jake didn't know what to say; Helen and Robin had been incredibly lucky to find each other so quickly. And it wasn't the only astonishing story Jake had heard since arriving at Camp Austin, either. Unfortunately, there were far, far more stories like Anna's, of people who feared they'd lost their entire family and were praying for the kind of miracle that had happened to Helen and Robin. He didn't believe there were enough of those kinds of miracles to go around.

At last Robin broke the silence before it became unbearable. She giggled. "You won't believe what Harper did..."

"No? What did he do?" Anna asked, rousing herself from her melancholy. Jake was sure she couldn't care less, but she was clearly making an effort for Robin's sake. He silently thanked Robin; it was hard navigating the waters of Anna's grief, never knowing if he'd hit one of the rocks hidden under the surface. Robin's candid naiveté help cut through all of that. Soon Anna was smiling for real as Robin told her of Harper's antics in the stolen station wagon. And maybe her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and maybe she still was wan and sad, but Jake's earlier hope was borne out: this visit was good for her.

He stayed for a few minutes longer, occasionally adding a comment whenever it seemed required. When Robin asked Anna how she and Jake had ended up in Camp Austin, he took that as his cue. He pushed up and shook the stiffness from his legs. "I'm gonna―." He jabbed a thumb across his shoulder in the general direction of the main buildings. He'd seen an application for kitchen volunteers on the notice board, and now was as good a time as any to check it out. Cleaning dishes sounded preferable to twiddling his thumbs all day waiting for God knows what to happen. "You need anything? And don't miss lunch, okay?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "We'll be fine."

"Okay." Jake bumped Robin's shoulder lightly with a fist. "Catch up with you later, kiddo?" She grinned up at him. With a final nod in Helen's direction, Jake exited the tent.

Outside, he pulled in a lungful of air, thinking how nice it was to see Anna having friends other than Molly. It allowed him to leave her alone with a lighter heart.

As he set off toward the mess, he decided that if they didn't want him in the kitchen, he'd try to get another volunteer job. He was afraid he might go slowly mad if he didn't have something useful to occupy his time.

o0o

Contrary to his expectations, Jake was one of only a few volunteers to show up at the mess and the kitchen supervisor put him to work as soon as he announced his interest. He hadn't bussed tables since he was fifteen and been the dishwasher at the Pizza Garden, and he'd forgotten how physical the work could be. But even though it didn't challenge his intellect or his skills, for the first time in a long time, he felt he was doing something meaningful. It was very satisfying.

His half of the tent was empty when he returned, with arms and shoulders sore from the work. Molly was on her cot, reading a novel. Jake was surprised and concerned to not find Anna in her customary place.

"She went out with your friends." Molly peered at him over the edge of her reading glasses. "I think they went to see the Wall."

"Hmm." Jake frowned unhappily. Whenever he'd suggested it, Anna had steadfastly refused to go with him and find out if she recognized any of the messages. He'd hoped Robin and Helen's visit would draw her out, but that didn't mean he liked her going there without him. Seeing all those notices on the Wall could be overpowering, especially for someone as brittle as Anna had been lately. But none of it was Molly's fault. "Thanks. I'll go find her." He swiveled on his heel, not wanting to take the time to change out of the shirt, which was damp with sweat and dishwater.

Molly called after him as he ducked out, "She'll be fine, Jake."

Amused at her perceptiveness―or perhaps he was more transparent than he'd thought―he allowed himself to be somewhat soothed by her reassurance. Still, wanting to confirm for himself, Jake walked back toward the mess building. The stretch of muddy grass running parallel to the Wall wasn't busy; almost no new mementoes had gone up lately. Either people had found who they were looking for, or they'd given up hope and were avoiding the place.

Jake spotted Anna easily among the handful of people who were reading. She stood alone, with her head tilted backward and her attention riveted on the notes. "Hey."

She turned around. Her eyes were moist with unshed tears. "Jake, this is horrible." She hugged herself. "I know you told me about it, but I didn't realize―."

He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I know." No words could sufficiently explain what the Wall _was_; it had to be seen to fully absorb its impact. "Did you―?" He paused, not knowing if he should continue; but he had to ask. "Did you find any news of your mother or father?"

"No, I―." She broke off, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry." He drew her to him. It wasn't much of a surprise, but he'd still held out some hope she'd have recognized something he'd missed.

Taking a deep breath, Anna added, her voice quavering, "Jake, all those people... It's so heartbreaking."

She was trembling in his embrace. Could be because she was fighting with her emotions, or maybe she was merely cold. The overcast day wasn't warm, and she did feel chilled to the touch. He pulled his head back so he could look down on her. "How long have you been out?"

"Not sure." She gave him a bemused smile. "We left not long after you did. Robin and her mom had to go take care of stuff. A couple hours?"

He shot her a rueful grin. "That's long enough, don't you think?" Keeping his arm around her shoulders, he started guiding her in the direction of their tent. She didn't resist him. "Let's get you warmed up and rested before dinner time." Giving her a suspicious once-over, he asked, "You didn't forget to get lunch, did you?" With the baby to take care of and the meals being provided so meager, she couldn't afford to miss any meals of them.

She made a noise in the back of her throat. "No, boss." Glancing at her, he was pleased to see she was giving him an eye roll. He curved his mouth into a grin, accepting the gentle rebuke. Anna went on, "I ate with Robin and Helen." She punched him lightly on the arm. "Saw they put you to work clearing tables, but you were too busy to notice us."

Huh. He smiled sheepishly at her. It was true he'd been hard-pressed to keep up during the peak hour of the midday meal, especially before he got into a routine.

As they turned the corner, Jake saw the line for the evening meal was already forming, two hours before they'd start serving. Some individuals were chatting idly while they waited; others were hunkered down, wrapped in blankets to chase off the October chill.

"Jake?" Anna slipped out from his embrace and stopped walking. "You should go." The words were spoken softly but firmly. "Home, I mean. I'm sure your family's worried sick about you, like those people are." She gestured behind her, toward the Wall. "There's nothing you can do for me here."

Jake began shaking his head, although the mere mention of going to Jericho provoked a pang of longing inside him, even though he hadn't visited in five years. "I'm not leaving you by yourself. Not while―." He stopped, clueless what he was going to say.

"Jake, seeing all those notes made me realize something. It could be months before I find out what happened to my parents. If―," she uttered a little hiccupy noise and cleared her throat, "―if I ever do. But you? You still have family to go to."

"No." Again, Jake shook his head. "Not until I'm sure you're safe."

"I _am_ safe, Jake." Anna put her hand on his wrist and tilted her head so she could more easily catch his gaze. "I know you promised Freddy. But those mercenaries don't care about me. And there's food and water here, and shelter, and soldiers to protect us." She gestured toward the main gate where the outline of a tank could be seen against the slate-gray Texan sky. It had shown up the day before and taken up position right outside the gate. Jake had no idea what it was supposed to guard against.

What she said made sense. But he had a lingering feeling they weren't as safe as she believed. And while the plan to go 'home' had never been far from Jake's mind since they'd left San Diego, the prospect of leaving Anna behind made his chest constrict unexpectedly.

He dragged in a lungful of air. "We'll talk about it later, okay?"

o0o

On the other side of the tent from Jake, Henry turned over the last of the stock cards in the game of solitaire he was playing and drew his brows together as it was revealed to be a Jack of Clubs. He tapped his bottom lip with a finger as he studied the tableau laid out on the cot. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

Robin, sitting on the ground at his feet, leaned forward on her elbows for a closer investigation. She shook her head in mock dismay. "I think you're all out of luck. That doesn't fit anywhere."

"I think you may be right." Henry snorted his assent and gathered up the cards. Shuffling them into a single stack, he winked at the girl. "Hey kiddo, fancy some gin rummy?"

Robin cocked her head. "Mom won't let me drink." Henry laughed out loud, and Jake, listening furtively from the other cot, had to bite his cheek to hold his own laughter in. Robin shot Henry a perplexed blink. "What?"

"It's a card game, girl." Henry clucked his tongue. "Don't they teach you young'uns nothing useful?"

"Playing cards isn't _useful_," Robin protested.

"It's not?" Henry sat up in pretend alarm. "What do you kids _do_? You can't watch idjits making fools of themselves on, what was it called―_American Idol _these were you one of those kids always playing games on those Nintendings?"

Robin giggled. "Ninten_do_. And PlayStation's better, anyway."

"If you say so, sweetie." Henry chuckled. "If you say so."

They fell silent, probably thinking, as Jake was, about the many things they'd always taken for granted. While the effect of the EMP hadn't hit as hard this far south as it had further up north at the abandoned gas station store, it had still fried a good number of circuit boards, turning all those appliances into pieces of junk. And even if devices had survived, the limited power supply available at the camp meant the electricity could be put to better uses than powering television sets or video game consoles.

"Hey, maybe Jake knows how to play your game." Robin twisted around in his direction. "Jake?"

Jake lowered the book he'd been pretending to read. Molly had lent it to him, promising it would help pass the time. But Jake'd never been a reader for pleasure, and he was having a hard time keeping track of the plot. Especially while worrying about Anna and the other women. They'd gone to do laundry at the washrooms―by themselves. Jake had tried to insist on going along too, which had made him the recipient of several caustic looks, before Anna had told him flat-out to stop fussing. Henry had defused the situation with a wink and a stage-whisper in Jake's direction that he expected they wanted to be "trading girls' gossip. Can't have a man 'round for that!"―which had earned him a stern "Henry Ginsberger!" rebuke from his wife. Jake had backed down, not wanting to turn it into an argument. He also knew he wouldn't breathe easy until they returned. With resources growing scarce and tension running high, the camp was gradually sinking toward a level of chaotic lawlessness that the soldiers in charge were ill equipped to deal with. Already, there had been stories of attacks and robberies, and there'd even been one rape reported, on top of the ever-present squabbles over thefts of soap or clothing.

To stop himself from imagining all kinds of horror scenarios, he'd tried to stay occupied with Molly's book, but listening to Henry and Robin banter over a deck of well-thumbed cards had proved a more enjoyable distraction. Robin was hanging out at the tent all the time, which Helen didn't seem to mind. Jake suspected she welcomed the reprieve: although Robin was easy to get along with, she _was_ getting on for sixteen and Jake remembered how he'd thoroughly disliked hanging out with his parents at that age. Robin had taken a shine to the Ginsbergers, though, and they indulged her attentions gladly. They might not have had children or grandchildren of their own, but they were making wonderful substitute grandparents.

Henry held up the deck for Jake to see. "Fancy a game of gin rummy?"

"Sure, why not." Wasn't as if he had anything better to do―at least not until it was time for his next volunteer shift. Clumping along Texas' abandoned roadways one step at a time might have been mind-numbing, but life at a refugee camp was even duller. If he hadn't gotten the volunteer job, he'd have been bored out of his skull and likely going a little crazy.

Closing the book, he laid it on the cot and got up. Robin shifted so he could sit beside Henry, with one leg bent at the knee so he was half-turned in the older man's direction. She made herself comfortable between them on the floor, on the folded blanket she'd been using as a cushion.

Henry started shuffling the deck expertly between his callused fingers. "You know how to play, do you?"

"Yup," Jake confirmed. It had been years, though. One winter, when he'd been thirteen or fourteen―before hanging out at home with his mother and baby brother had grown beneath his teenaged dignity―he and Mom had played the game for hours on end.

"Sure hope they don't plan on keepin' us much longer." Henry's muttered words as he started dealing the cards brought Jake out of his reminiscence. For a moment, he was uncertain what Henry meant, until Henry added, "Be nice to get home before plantin' time."

"Hm-m." Jake puffed out a faint noise of agreement as he picked up the cards and fanned them out in his palm. He wasn't really paying much attention to either the cards or Henry, his mind still running over resurfaced memories from the past: with the TV dark and an old record on the stereo, Eric slaving over his homework, and Dad off for one town meeting or another, never getting home until hours after Jake had been sent to bed.

Henry put what remained of the deck face-down between them on the cot before flipping over one card and placing it next to the stack. He went on, "Bad enough we lost this year's harvest. Although," his face crinkled as he frowned, "I s'pose that's gone on account of the radiation, anyways."

Jake sat up straight, the cards in his hands were forgotten. "Not all of it."

"What?" Henry looked up from the fan of cards he was holding.

"Not everything got contaminated," Jake repeated, even as the makings of a plan started to take shape in his mind.

Earlier, he'd been helping unload one of the supply trucks. Heavily armed Ravenwood troops had kept back the refugees, who were watching in silence, their faces hollow with hunger. The number of crates had been getting fewer with each delivery, and Jake had remarked on it to the truck driver, a square-jawed man in his fifties. The trucker―not a Ravenwood employee but a hired independent―had shrugged. "Dunno where they get their stuff from." He'd waved a hand at the flak-jacketed mercenaries surrounding the truck. "I go where they tell me to go. Though," he'd lowered his voice and leaned closer to Jake, giving the closest Ravenwood guy a shifty glance to confirm he wasn't looking at them, "between you and me: wouldn't surprise me if some of it ends up on the black market in Austin or San Antonio."

Jake had scoffed in response as he hoisted another box from the truck. Given what he knew of Ravenwood and their methods, it wouldn't surprise him either. But without concrete proof that Ravenwood was stealing from FEMA, he couldn't complain to the administration―they'd chuck him out on his ass. And worse, they could stop him from working in the kitchens, which meant he'd lose the chance to filch a bruised apple or an overripe tomato for Anna once in a while. He couldn't take that risk.

But they were all dumb fools! Cause Henry had a point: plenty of food was simply going to waste on the fields. Henry was wrong that it'd be inedible; the radiation hadn't spread that far. With modern farm equipment out of commission due to lack of gas and power, the farmers were unable to bring their harvests in. But they had plenty of manual labor available here in Camp Austin. If Jake could put together three or four volunteer teams, they could help collect the crops before it was too late.

"Son, what's gotten into you?" Henry was giving him an odd look, and Robin peered up at him curiously.

Jake blinked, realizing he'd let his hand with the cards fall so they all could see what he'd been holding. "Um." He shot them both a wry grin, quickly laying out his idea.

Robin beamed enthusiastically. Henry chewed on it for a minute. "Sounds like a fine plan to me. We'd be crazy to let crops rot in the fields while we go hungry. Should be beets and pumpkins and broccoli aplenty, even 'round these parts."

"Pumpkins?" Robin giggled. "As in for Halloween?"

Henry grinned. "Yes, sweetie. As in for Halloween. Heck, I'll carve you out a face myself."

It was two weeks until the holiday. Wouldn't be a lot of trick or treating going on this year, Jake supposed.

"You need FEMA to agree." Henry's grin disappeared. "Can't walk out and expect to be let back in. Y'all gonna need day passes, and you'll have to ask them to lend you a truck, or you'll never get the spoils back here."

"I realize that." To be honest, Jake hadn't thought that far yet, but Henry was making some good points and it sounded like he knew who they should to talk to, as well. Though it'd be mere formalities and logistics that needed taking care of.

Eager to set his plan into motion, Jake hopped off the cot. "I won't be long."

"I'll come with." Robin jumped to her feet.

"Will you tell Anna where we went?" Jake turned back to Henry.

"Will do." Henry seemed faintly amused at Jake's sudden zeal. Jake didn't care. Finally, he had a plan. And a good one at that. He couldn't believe nobody else had thought of it; it was so glaringly obvious. Why hadn't _he_, when they'd lived off the land for two weeks? They were going hungry, while there was plenty of food to be collected right outside the camp. And the cooks wouldn't need to carry on watering the soup until you were lucky to have a single chunk of vegetable in your ration. Of course, he didn't know exactly what sort of crops they'd be growing around Austin, but he expected there'd be fruit and grain too. In his mind, he was already making lists of what they'd need: strong hands, a truck for transportation, tools, containers to collect their haul in. Perhaps they could borrow boxes from the kitchen store room...

"Can we get fries, you think?" Robin had to jog to keep up with Jake's larger strides. "Or pizza?"

He shot her a smirk. "Fries don't grow in the fields, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that. But potatoes do."

Jake snorted a laugh. "You got a point." French fries hadn't been at the top of his list of items lacking in their diet, but now that Robin had mentioned them, his mouth watered. "I'll see what I can do. Let's see what they say, first, okay?"

The administration building wasn't as crowded as it had been the evening Jake and Anna arrived, but a small number of men were milling around, waiting to speak to a FEMA staff member. Jake searched around the office for Julie-Anne. He reckoned she'd be sympathetic to his plan, and might help him convince her supervisor.

He didn't see her, though, and the bespectacled man of around Jake's age they were supposed to speak to told them curtly that Julie-Anne wasn't on duty. Jake hesitated, and the man added grudgingly, "Anything I can do to help you?"

"I hope so." Jake explained his idea to send out volunteer groups to harvest abandoned crops in addition to Ravenwood's deliveries.

The clerk's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline as Jake went on. Once Jake had finished, he shook his head dubiously. "That'd be something I need to take up with my boss." He got up from the chair he was sitting on. "Wait here."

"Hmph," Robin groused as they watched him disappear through a door at the back of the room. "What a downer."

Jake absently hmm'ed his agreement; he hadn't liked how the clerk had scurried off to find his supervisor, and he wished he'd been able to talk to Julie-Anne first. At least she'd shown she'd apply common sense in her decision-making.

They didn't have to wait long: in less than five minutes the clerk reappeared, with a tall, balding man in tow. Jake assumed he was the camp's administrator. They spoke in a whisper as the clerk indicated Jake and Robin

"Mr Green." The tall man came striding toward them. "Thank you for bringing your suggestion to our attention. Unfortunately, I can't approve it."

In the wake of the clerk's behavior, the denial shouldn't have come as a shock. "But―." Jake objected, disappointed to his core.

"I'll admit, it's an interesting idea," the administrator went on in a soothing tone, while the clerk settled himself a pace or two behind, watching them. "However, I'm afraid allowing supplies of an unknown origin into the camp would open FEMA up to all sorts of liabilities."

"And not properly feeding the people under your care doesn't?" Jake's temper rose, and he struggled to keep it in check. He'd been foolish to expect those in charge of the camp to jump at the plan, but to be flat-out refused without further consideration was humiliating. He wasn't a big city dweller who couldn't tell the difference between a corn cob and a carrot; he'd grown up around farms and he'd tramped across Texas for two weeks before getting here. He knew what he was talking about, so why couldn't the man see that taking out volunteer teams to harvest the nearby crops was the solution to a number of his problems? "You have to know the current supplies we're getting aren't enough to feed everyone!" Jake took a deep breath, trying to remain calm; getting into a fight with a bureaucrat like this guy would never result in anything good. "And there's plenty to eat out there. If you don't believe me, ask the farmers in your camp."

"I'm sure you're right, Mr Green." The administrator crossed his arms in front of his chest, meeting Jake stare for stare. "The supplies we're managing to transport in may not be enough, but at least we've confirmed they're safe to eat. If I let you go out and get provisions from God knows where, those provisions could very well be contaminated with radiation. Or, Heaven forbid, result in an outbreak of a contagious disease. I won't have people dying from unsafe food on my watch. Besides," he dropped his hands and shrugged, "we haven't got either the trucks or the gas to spare on an expedition as uncertain of success as the one you're proposing."

"So you'd rather have people die from hunger?" Jake snarled, losing the fight with his temper. He clenched his fists and planted them on the counter, leaning forward. The administrator frowned at him and took a step back, out of Jake's reach. "Then what good's your gas gonna do? These crops are going to waste. If you don't want to use volunteers, at least―."

The administrator's gaze left Jake's, sliding over Jake's shoulder. He gestured and Jake swung around to see the soldier who'd been standing watch at the door had started in their direction, shifting his weapon for a better grip.

"Jake?" Robin's hand landed on his wrist, her voice small.

"Yes, let's go." Realizing nothing he could say was going to convince the FEMA administrator to bend the rules, even a fraction, Jake swallowed his anger until it sat like a rock in his stomach. Throwing up his hands in disgust, he stomped past the guardsman without another word. Robin scurried ahead of him, shooting the soldier a wary look. As he marched out the door after her, Jake couldn't stop from slamming it behind him hard enough to make the entire building shake. Giving vent to his frustration like that didn't make any difference. But grabbing the administrator and hauling him over the counter until he saw Jake's point of view, while temporarily more satisfying, would've gotten Jake in serious trouble and that was the last thing he needed, especially with Robin there.

o0o


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The walk back to the tent took the edge off Jake's anger. If he were honest, he had to admit the FEMA supervisor did have valid reasons to be concerned with the safety of supplies from an undetermined origin. But dammit, there had to be ways around that, ways to _make_ it safe, and the man could've shown some good will and _tried_.

"How'd it go?" Henry asked, as soon as Jake dropped the flap behind him and Robin. He took a closer look at their expressions. "Not as you planned, I take it."

Jake landed heavily on his and Anna's cot, letting his gaze drift around at the faces staring back at him. The women had returned with the laundry during his absence and, with a half dozen bodies in it, the small space was crammed. Henry must have filled everyone in on what he'd been up to, given nobody seemed confused or puzzled; all he saw was hopeful curiosity. "I'm sorry." He hunched his shoulders miserably. "They're not gonna go for it."

Anna, sitting next to him, reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Hey, at least you tried."

"Did they say why?" Henry wanted to know. "Did you tell them you saw crops rotting in the fields?"

"Of course I did." Jake spread his hands helplessly. "Didn't make a lick of difference."

"They said we'd all get sick if we followed Jake's plan." Robin's tone was a mix of such incredulity and righteous indignation on his behalf that it brought a faint smile to Jake's lips despite the disappointment.

Molly sniffed from where she'd gone on with folding clean shirts. "And what they are feeding us won't?"

"That's what Jake said, too!" Robin puffed out her cheeks angrily. "They're a bunch of stupid idiots."

"Hey, language," Helen chided.

"They are!" Robin glared at her mother, before stomping from the tent. Helen shot Jake an apologetic glance and ducked out after her daughter.

Henry chuckled quietly. "Heh. You should've let that one fight your battle."

Jake uttered a wry laugh. He felt sorry for Robin; she'd been so excited. "If I thought it would've made a difference, I might have."

His momentary mirth faded quickly and Jake sighed, though the sting of being turned away was gradually lessening. At Henry's prompting, he repeated what the administrator had said: that contaminated food could bring disease into the camp and cause it to spread quickly. Henry hmm'ed unhappily, but, like Jake, he didn't have any easy answers.

Once Jake was done with his explanation, the tent grew silent, everyone wrapped up in their own thoughts. Jake lay down on the cot, one hand behind his head, and stared up at the canvas ceiling. It was hard not to second-guess himself and think how he might have handled the supervisor differently, but thinking like that was a pointless exercise. It had been clear the camp administrator was a stickler for the rules and wouldn't've budged, no matter what arguments Jake might have tried.

Later that evening, after the lights had been switched off and he'd crawled into bed, he suggested softly to Anna, "I think we should leave."

Anna twisted around until Jake sensed her gaze on him, though he reckoned she couldn't decipher his expression in the darkness any more than he could make out hers. "Leave? And go where?" Her voice quivered slightly, though he wouldn't have detected the slight tremble if he hadn't gotten to know her as well as he had over the past month.

"Go home, to Jericho." He wasn't fully aware of what he'd said, or that he'd called Jericho home for the first time in a long time, until he felt her reaction: an ever so slight stiffening of her body. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean―." He broke off, instead reaching out to touch her cheek, a wordless apology for bringing up bad memories. "My sister-in-law's a doctor, and my mom used to be a nurse. You'd be safe there." He was certain the situation in Jericho would be better than in the camp. Dad would've kept the town together, despite the chaos. No matter how he'd done it, his father would've made certain that Stanley and the other farmers around the town would have brought their harvests in, sharing the crops while they waited for the situation to return to normal. "If we leave now, I think we can make it before winter." It'd be a long and arduous journey, hard on her, but not impossible. He'd gone over the plan constantly during the hours working the dinner shift, weighing the pros and cons. And while the prospect of taking her on the road made his heart hammer in his chest, it still sounded more attractive than a slow death from starvation in Camp Austin.

"Jake..." Anna swallowed. "I don't think I can..." There were tears in her voice, and she shook her head, her hair tickling the back of his hand as she moved. "Please, can't we stay?"

"Hey, hey. Shh, it's okay." He drew her closer, pulling the blankets tightly around them. "If you don't want to leave, we won't." Much as he thought they should, he wasn't going to force her on a journey she was afraid to take.

o0o

Anna fell asleep shortly after their whispered conversation. Sleep didn't come so easily to Jake; he lay awake most of the night, considering the options. He didn't have to see the anxious glances the cooks gave one other as they tried to devise ways to stretch the remaining stores another day to know food supplies to the camp were running dangerously low. He'd likely be okay on smaller and smaller rations for a while, but the fact remained that Anna had to eat for two, or it might harm the baby.

So, if FEMA didn't want to let volunteer groups go out to collect what they could find, he'd go alone. It'd be harder, and take far longer, and he wouldn't be able to bring back the same amount as he would otherwise, but at least he could make sure Anna had enough to eat.

He couldn't do it by himself, though. At the least, he'd have to tell Molly and Henry what he was up to; they'd certainly notice if he disappeared for several days. And having received Robin's vocal support the day before, he kind of owed it to her to share his haul—whatever it turned out to be—with her and her mother .

Spotting Helen and Robin during his breakfast shift, he asked them to drop by the tent later. He expected they'd visit anyway―they usually did―but he didn't want to leave it to chance. Helen promised him they would.

They were already at the tent when Jake arrived back after finishing his shift. They gathered around him, faces expectant, as he laid out his new plan.

"Can I come with?" Robin leaned forward, her eyes glittering with excitement, as soon as he stopped talking.

"Not a chance." Helen's answer came swift and determined.

"Mo-om..."

Jake broke in. "Your mom's right. It's not a good idea." He liked Robin; she was a brave girl. But he couldn't afford to have a teenager tagging along. "It's gonna be boring," he went on, "and hard, dirty work." And potentially dangerous, with bands of outlaws roaming around, but he didn't want to alarm her—or Anna—by mentioning that.

Robin shot him a wounded glare. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders mulishly. He chuckled inwardly; he could tell from the stubborn glint in her eyes that she wasn't convinced yet. He'd need to keep tabs on her; he wouldn't put it past her to try and sneak out after him if she got the chance.

"Want me to go with you?" Henry was the next person to offer. "Help you figure out what's good to take and what isn't?" He sounded more eager than Jake had expected. Perhaps Henry, too, was starting to chafe at being cooped up in Camp Austin with nothing to do.

Molly sniffed loudly. "Henry Ginsberger, don't you think you're a little old to go cavortin' about?" She crossed her arms under her bosom, giving Henry a baleful look.

The old farmer frowned at his wife, for a change not wearing the half-smile that usually softened his features, as if he was constantly amused over something nobody else was aware of. "Woman, I'll have you know―."

"It's okay," Jake quickly forestalled a second argument. "I'll be fine. I think I can separate a squash from a cucumber." He smiled to temper the brush-off. "And it'll be far less conspicuous if it's only me." _Faster too_, he thought, though he kept that to himself. Because Molly was right: Henry was an old man, and if they had to rush to cover in a hurry, he'd be a liability.

Henry harrumphed loudly, giving voice to his disagreement without words. Jake scrutinized him from under his lashes, wondering if he'd have to watch Henry too when he set off.

"When will you leave?" Anna's voice was brittle. Jake looked at her sharply, but she was busily folding and refolding one of their blankets. He had no inkling what was going through her mind.

"As soon as possible."

"You're gonna need a pass to get out." Molly dropped her hands into her lap as she settled down on the cot next to her husband.

"A pass?" Jake remembered now that Henry had mentioned something about passes when he'd first suggested his original scheme.

"You can get them at the office," Molly explained. "To prove you're a resident, or they might not let you in when you get back."

"Hmm." Made sense FEMA would want to track the number of refugees living in Camp Austin, but he wasn't convinced they'd be willing to give him any kind of help, considering his quarrel with the administrator.

"I doubt they'd be that petty," Henry interpreted the expression on Jake's face correctly. "Just tell 'em you got business to attend to in the city. They don't particularly care what reasons you give 'em, as long as their records are in order."

Jake snorted ruefully. True, that matched his experience with the bureaucrat he'd met the day before. Stick to the rule book, never mind about the rest. But he'd make sure he talked to Julie-Anne; he wasn't as certain as Henry was that the administrator wouldn't find a reason to deny him a pass purely out of spite.

"How will you get it in here? The food?" Helen didn't sound convinced Jake's plan would work. "The guards are checking everything that comes through those gates, and if they're that worried about contamination..." Her voice trailed off without finishing.

Jake gave Robin's mom an appreciative look. She'd asked a valid question, and one he'd only given the barest consideration to so far. He'd been far too preoccupied with figuring out how to find any edible crops in the first place. "I'll have to smuggle it in, I guess?"

Robin's sudden snicker, loud in the silence that had fallen at Jake's words, made everyone turn to look at her. She blushed at being the center of attention. "I, um, was, just, you know, picturing Jake smuggling in a pumpkin under his jacket." Her hands formed a bulge in front of her belly. Jake scowled for a moment and Henry shook with laughter. Even Anna smiled at the mental image Robin's words and gestures brought.

"Right." Jake dropped the scowl and smirked at Robin instead. "That's obviously not gonna work."

Again, they were silent, all trying to come up with ideas. Henry said slowly, "I could meet you at the fence, maybe? Have you pass it over?" He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "By those trees in the northeast? Plenty dark there after the lights go out." Molly opened her mouth to remind Henry of his age a second time, but he anticipated her. "Robin can help with that. Can't you, girl?"

"Hang on―." It was Helen's turn to start objecting. Robin was faster.

"'Course I can." Her demeanor was a mix of headstrong determination and desperate pleading. "Mom, aren't you _sick_ of the crap they serve here? Cause I am." She sucked in a deep breath. "Please. I want to help. I'll be careful."

Helen cocked her head, scanning her daughter's face intently for a minute, before she sighed. "Okay. If you're gonna be with Henry, that'll be alright, I guess."

"Thank you!" Robin hugged her mother briefly. "This can work, can't it, Jake?"

"Yes, I think it can. It's a good plan." Jake lowered his head in Henry's direction in appreciation of his suggestion. It _was_ a clever idea. He smiled at Robin. "And having you there will allow us to get everything over the fence and out of sight so much quicker."

She colored pink and sucked in her lower lip. "What about the guards outside?"

"The patrols will follow a pattern." Jake leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "We'll have to figure it out, so we can work around it. That way, they won't catch us." He had no idea what the guards or the administrator would do if they discovered he was smuggling food into the camp, but he did know he didn't want to find out. At best, they'd simply confiscate the provisions he'd brought, but at worst? Getting kicked out of the camp might be the least of it, and he wasn't planning on even risking that. Not with the way Anna's voice had trembled at the suggestion they leave and make for Jericho.

Henry rubbed his hands together and shot a toothy grin at everyone in the tent. "That's settled, then."

Molly rolled her eyes at her husband, but she didn't say anything. Everyone else nodded their agreement.

o0o

Julie-Ann regarded Jake with a pinched expression which clearly said she wasn't buying his excuse for one second. If he were frank, Jake had to admit he wouldn't have believed it, either: having to go to a job interview in Austin? But it had been the best excuse for needing to leave the camp temporarily he'd been able to come up with. But he knew she, along with the rest of the FEMA staff, would almost certainly have been told about the incident the day before. "I promise I won't get you in trouble," he told her, presenting her with his most earnest smile. "Please."

She emptied her lungs in a whoosh. "I'll get you the form." Giving a weary shake of her head, she dipped her hand into the file drawer in her desk and came out with a single sheet of paper that she offered Jake. He filled it out quickly and she took it into the back office. Several minutes later, she emerged with a laminated pass the size of a business card. She held on to the card for a second as Jake reached out to take it from her. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't." Jake met her gaze steadily, and she let go of the card. He peered at the small white rectangle in his palm. The card didn't show a date or even his name, merely the FEMA logo and a number. "This'll get me back in?"

"Yes, it will. Just―," Julie-Anne held up a warning finger, "―don't stay away for too long. Three, four days max; any longer than that, we'll flag you as _Departed_."

Jake slipped the card into his back pocket. "Thanks, I'll remember that."

She lowered her voice. "I could lose my job over this."

He angled forward so he could rest his fingers on her wrist for an instant. "I won't let that happen, I promise." The last thing he wanted was to get his only friend on the FEMA staff in trouble with her boss.

o0o

Jake woke early the following morning with his stomach knotted up with nerves. He hadn't been this anxious about a trip for a long time; even the journeys up and down Route Irish had become routine after a while. But this? This, he was of two minds about. On the one hand, he couldn't wait to get out of the camp and actually _do_ something that would make life better for himself and those around him. On the other hand, he didn't like leaving them behind.

His anxiety made the watery oatmeal served up at breakfast taste like sawdust on his tongue, and he had to force himself to finish the entire bowl. Distasteful as the porridge was, he was gonna need all his strength. Washing down the last of the oatmeal with a swallow of water, he got up to turn in his bowl. He'd already told his supervisor in the kitchen that he wouldn't be around for a couple days and they'd assigned a pinch-faced woman to take up his chores. Watching her struggle to stack the bowls together, he offered her some advice on how to make it easier. She glowered darkly at him, ignoring his suggestions.

Shrugging her off, Jake headed back to the table he'd been sharing with Anna and the Ginsbergers, who weren't finished eating yet. "I'm gonna go back, make sure I got everything packed, okay?" He squeezed Anna's shoulder lightly. "See you before I leave?"

She tilted her head, giving him a tremulous smile. "Of course."

Walking back to the tent, he mentally went over the preparations they'd made. He'd spent the previous day with Henry, poring over the map of Texas and picking the old man's brain to learn everything he could about their surroundings. They had to figure out which areas would offer the best chance of finding edible food as close as possible to the camp. Then, during the night, Robin and Henry had used Molly's old-fashioned wind-up watch to determine the guards' schedule and identify the best window to pass stuff over the fence.

Jake had wanted to do the recon himself, but the entire group had opposed him. When Molly had reminded him he'd be smart to catch an hour or two of actual sleep before he went out, he'd relented. However, as there was only one working watch to go around, Jake would have to guess the correct time from the outside. He reckoned being able to see the guards would let him figure it out, but he hoped the soldiers patrolling the outer fence wouldn't change their schedule during his absence. If they didn't―and there was no reason to assume they would―they'd have an hour for him to pass his booty through the fence with minimal risk of being discovered.

He'd reached the tent and was busy checking he'd packed all the items he wanted to take―a blanket, the map of Texas, his flashlight―when Molly came in. "Jake, don't you worry. We'll take care of Anna." Her eyes crinkled up at him encouragingly. "Be careful out there. And come back soon."

Jake swallowed around a lump of worry. He couldn't leave Anna in more caring hands than with Molly and Henry, but that didn't stop him from fretting about them all. The Ginsbergers weren't young by any standard, and the camp was slowly becoming a powder keg of rising tension. Soon, it'd get to the point where one spark could blow the whole thing sky-high. People could get hurt.

Just the previous day, at the evening meal, a young father had loudly accused the cook of not giving his son a full ration. The accused man had taken offense, and before Jake or anyone else could interfere, the cook had a black eye, the father a bloodied nose, and the toddler had been crying hysterically. The soldiers who'd been called in at the first sign of trouble had dragged the enraged father off to the guard quarters. Jake assumed they'd locked him into what passed for the camp jail. Nobody knew what had become of the kid.

"I know," he assured Molly. "And I will."

Before Molly could say anything else, the tent flap was drawn aside so that Henry could let Anna in ahead of him. Molly silently squeezed Jake's arm for a second, before she returned to her own half of the tent.

Jake caught Henry's eye. "You know what to do, right?"

"Yep." Henry didn't appear put out by Jake's need to confirm everything over and over. "Tomorrow night, oh-two hundred, Robin and I'll be at the location." While they'd been making their plans, Henry had revealed he'd served and fought in Korea, and had reflexively fallen back into the military style of telling the time, much to Robin's entertainment. She'd giggled every time he mentioned it. "We'll wait for an hour. If you're not there, we'll try the next night."

"Good."

Anna hovered uncertainly near the cot. Words failed Jake, so he reached for the backpack he'd set on the mattress.

She quickly put her hand over his, preventing him from lifting the pack. "Got everything? Flashlight? Knife? The map?"

He chuckled wryly, giving her an amused grin. "I think so, yes."

She flushed. "Sorry. It's just―." She paused a second, adding under her breath, "Freddy always tended to forget things."

Jake sobered, his amusement fading. He knew what she meant: he'd often had to spring for Freddy's drinks because his friend had forgotten his wallet. And, once, Freddy had crashed in Jake's quarters because he'd locked himself out of his own room. He answered her just as quietly. "I remember."

The awkward silence that followed lasted several heartbeats. Anna cleared her throat and withdrew her hand. Jake swung the backpack lightly onto his shoulders―it was only half loaded this time―and let the straps settle into the familiar pressure. "So," he attempted another smile, holding the flap aside to let her duck out of the tent ahead of him, "want to see me off?"

Henry's "Good luck!" followed them out. There, they found Helen and Robin waiting. Helen echoed Henry's wish and moved off, while Robin joined Anna and Jake, and the three of them made for the gate. Jake felt as if he was setting out on a trip around the world instead of a dozen or so miles to the south. Henry'd told him he should come across apple orchards and pumpkin fields before too long if he went that way.

Uttering a soft snort to himself, he drew to a halt a half dozen yards from the gate. Beyond the fence, he could see the tank hulking in the road. He turned back toward the women. Robin failed to suppress a wide yawn, making her "Bye" nearly incomprehensible, and Jake chuckled again. "Catch up on sleep while I'm gone," he suggested, giving her a quick hug. "And take care of your mom, 'kay?"

"I will." Stepping out of his embrace, she backed away, giving Jake and Anna some privacy.

As Jake pulled Anna into his arms, her hands slipped under the backpack, her palms warm on his back through his shirt. She peered up at him, her eyes glistening suspiciously.

"Jake..." Her voice caught and she let go off him to scrub angrily at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm―."

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere." Leaning away a little, he ducked his head. "Just gonna get the groceries."

She snorted a shaky laugh at the joke, and lightly smacked his shoulder. "Be careful, alright?" she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost―."

Jake drew her tightly to him again. "It's only for a couple days. I'll be back before you know it, I promise." Dropping a kiss in her hair, he held her for a moment longer, before gently pushing her away.

He didn't look back as he presented the small card Julie-Anne had given him to the bored guard at the fence and headed south.

o0o

The first miles, Jake strode along the abandoned road at a fast clip. He was afraid FEMA would haul him back, the camp administrator demanding to know what he thought he was doing. But nobody came after him; as Henry had predicted, nobody cared what he did or where he went after leaving the camp.

He made excellent time. The day had started out overcast and chilly, but soon the cloud cover broke open; he couldn't have wished for finer weather for his jaunt. With the sun climbing high in a pale blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds, it soon even grew hot enough for him to shuck his jacket. He tied it around his waist and continued on in just his T-shirt.

He saw no other people. It was as if the land around Austin had been scoured clean of human life, and he was the last person alive. It was hard to stay alert under the circumstances and, gradually, he relaxed and began to actually enjoy the hike, thinking absently that he could walk straight to Jericho if it all was like this. He even wasted ten minutes watching a pair of wild hares cavorting in a grassy field— thinking about how he'd once used to hunt jackrabbits with Stanley and wishing he had a shotgun—until a noise spooked the animals and they zig-zagged out of sight under a bush.

Always comfortable with his own company, he abruptly wished he could've shared a laugh at the hares' antics with Anna. He hadn't been aware how accustomed he'd grown to her presence during the weeks they'd spent walking across Texas until he was alone. He missed her―though he couldn't say the same about the depressing daily life of the camp: the smells, the constant gnawing of hunger, the never-ending noise of too many people packed too closely together.

A little after noon, he stopped for a brief rest. Lying in the coarse grass on the shoulder of the narrow country road, he gazed up at the clouds drifting by. His stomach growled, the sound loud in the silence that surrounded him. Compared to the constant background buzz of the refugee camp, the Texan countryside was quiet. To be honest, the complete lack of human noise―a car, a farm tractor, a plane flying overhead―was kinda creepy. Used to be no place in the States you couldn't hear a plane at any given time, however faintly.

Trying to stave off his hunger, he attempted to satisfy his stomach with a large gulp of water. He wanted to hold on to the packet of saltines he'd brought along―all that was left from the supplies he and Anna had found in a ransacked Circle-K the day before Ravenwood rounded them up―for later. He hadn't brought any other provisions from the camp, thinking that the small cache they'd squirreled away in the tent should be kept for emergencies. After all, if everything went as he'd hoped, he should have plenty to eat by nightfall. And if it didn't, it wouldn't be the first time he'd gone to sleep hungry. As long as he didn't have to return to Camp Austin empty-handed, he'd be happy.

Shortly after he set off walking again, he came across a large billboard with gaily painted images of all sorts of fruits and vegetables. Bold letters announced _Clearbrooke Organic Farm_, and _Pick Your Own_. An arrow underscoring the words pointed him to the left, telling him the farm was a mile down the rutted track. Jake followed the arrow; he couldn't have wished for a better place than a small farm offering all kinds of produce. This might be easier than he'd dared hope.

Reaching the end of the track, his good cheer faded. The farm had been abandoned: the barns and outbuildings all were locked tight and the wooden produce stalls in the yard were empty and coated with dust. Hand-painted signs hanging from them, announcing the sale of peaches and berries, bore silent witness that the farm had once been a thriving place.

He wandered among the buildings, heading toward the corner of the largest barn. A soft noise made him freeze in mid-step. He was unarmed, the Ruger in Ravenwood hands and even the flare gun locked away by the National Guard somewhere back at the camp. Should he risk showing himself, hoping, whoever it was, they were friendly? Or should he hide and wait them out, as they didn't appear to have heard him?

Tiptoeing over to the corner of the barn, he was readying himself to take a peek around it and see the lay of the land when the soft sound was repeated.

He barked a sardonic laugh at his own expense, finally recognizing the noise for what it was: the muttered clucking of a chicken. The silent emptiness must've left him more spooked than he'd realized. What was a chicken doing here, anyway?_ Overlooked while they cleared out the farm,_ he answered his own question. He snuck a glance around the corner at the lone fowl―a Rhode Island hen, if he wasn't mistaken from the lecture Bonnie had once given him on various breeds―which was pecking at the ground. Could he catch it? His mouth watered at the memory of crispy grilled chicken breast.

He quietly let the backpack slip from his shoulders, putting it down against the barn wall, and tiptoed further round the corner of the building. The chicken, busy with whatever it discovered in the dirt, didn't appear to care one whit about him. Jake quickly learned he'd underestimated the creature, though: as soon as he sprang forward in an attempt to catch it, it scurried off in a flutter of wings, cackling indignantly. It stopped a couple of feet away, ruffling its feathers and giving him the evil eye.

Jake chuckled wryly and straightened, considering the hen thoughtfully. He shouldn't be wasting his energy on chasing a chicken around the abandoned yard, he decided. Even if he caught it, what would he do with it? He couldn't cook it, not without a fire, which would take time to get going. And while he might be hungry, an entire chicken would be far too overwhelming for his stomach, which hadn't seen meat for much too long- while any leftovers would spoil before he could get it back to camp.

He considered briefly whether he should try hunting for eggs, dismissing the idea almost as soon as it had formed. Without any clues as to how old the eggs were, any he dug up were as likely to make him sick as nourish him. If only they could have _fresh_ eggs... For an instant, he pictured sneaking the clucking bird into the camp, and laughed out loud. That was a worse idea even than Robin's suggestion for pumpkin smuggling. "Okay, off you go," he urged the hen, which let out a final wary _cluck_ before it went back to digging for invisible morsels.

He watched it putter off, thinking it might not get so lucky with the next person to come around. Then, collecting his backpack, he continued his investigation of the abandoned farm. Behind the cluster of buildings, he discovered overgrown gardens and a small orchard. From their appearance, others had been there before him: the vegetable patches he could see were all torn up, and the nearest trees picked bare. His heart dropped. Had he walked this far for nothing?

As he explored deeper into the orchard, though, a closer inspection revealed that perhaps the situation wasn't as hopeless as he'd first thought. Apples lay scattered in the grass and ripe grapefruits clung to the trees furthest from the farm. He dropped his backpack at the foot of an apple tree and let his gaze roam around, trying to decide where to start. Spotting an apple near his feet, a bright red splotch in the tall grass, he gathered it up and brushed off the dirt, before taking a big bite. His stomach uttered a growl in anticipation.

Munching on the fruit and enjoying the tart taste after the bland camp meals, he took another look around him. Beyond the orchard were fields of beets and broccoli, as well as squash, sweet potatoes, carrots and turnips. None of the fields, lying further from the farm, had been picked clean yet. Spotting a pumpkin patch, he grinned, recalling Robin's joke.

He'd best start with the most nutritious crops. Preferably produce that didn't necessarily require cooking. As a volunteer, he might be able to sneak into the kitchens early in the morning to boil potatoes or broccoli on a hot plate. But anything more complicated would be impossible to hide from the camp cooks.

Having eaten the apple down to the very last fiber, Jake buried the core at the edge of the nearest field. Some day, he reckoned, the number of apple tree saplings springing up in unusual places would allow historians to follow his and Anna's trail across Texas.

He sobered quickly, his amusement gone, as he imagined what the country would be like over the next few years, with all those cities destroyed and nobody knowing who the government was.

He started by collecting all the apples and grapefruits he could find, gathering them up in two big piles. Some that had been on the ground too long were obviously rotting, or worms had found the fruit first. He ignored those and gathered the rest. Before long, he'd scoured the small orchard clean.

His next stops were the fields of squash and beets and baby turnips. Digging through the dirt to unearth the small roots, he made quick work of creating several more large heaps.

It was only when it grew too dark for him to continue to work comfortably that he realized with surprise that the afternoon had given way to evening. He'd barely noticed the time passing. His spine crackled as he pushed to his feet, reminding him in no uncertain terms of the hours he'd spent bent over or kneeling. He stretched and swung his arms sideways, loosening his stiffened muscles, and surveyed the loot he'd gathered during his afternoon's work. Dried mud stuck in clumps to the roots and the broccoli was sandy but, all in all, he'd amassed a decent pile of food.

A dull hollow in the pit of his belly as he reviewed his hoard reminded him he hadn't eaten anything but an apple since breakfast. He grinned: his earlier fear of having to go to sleep hungry had proven unfounded. He picked up a handful of the carrots and scrubbed at the dirt clinging to them. It might not be grilled chicken, but he had plenty of options for supper, and it certainly beat the watery lentil soup the camp would be serving.

Thinking of the camp brought to mind those he'd left behind: people depending on him to collect supplies to feed them. He ran a dirty hand across his chin, feeling tired and filthy. The pile of stuff he'd gathered didn't look nearly as impressive as it had five minutes ago, not when it had to feed Molly and Henry and Robin and Helen, as well as Anna. He knuckled his back, thinking he still had to sort out the fruit and figure out how to carry everything with him on the long walk back to the camp, too. The rest of the harvest would have to wait for a future trip―assuming he could convince the guards to let him out a second time.

Chewing on one of the carrots, ignoring the crunch of leftover sand between his teeth, Jake carefully retraced his steps in the last of the dusk to where he'd left his backpack. Wiping his palms on his jeans, he collected his flashlight. He'd need a place to crash for the night; perhaps he could find shelter in one of the sheds.

But everything was locked up tight and he wasn't so desperate for shelter that he was prepared to break into one of the buildings. Above him, stars dotted the black sky, a smattering of pinpoints of white light, and even though the sun had set, it was still remarkably balmy and didn't look as if it would rain tonight. Wouldn't be the first time he slept under the open sky.

In the orchard, where the trees would shield him from view and provide protection, he munched on a couple of bruised apples, before wrapping the blanket from his backpack around him and stuffing the pack itself under his head to serve as a pillow. Switching off the flashlight, he lay on his back, peering up at the stars visible through the canopy.

Despite the long day, and the hard physical labor, he found he couldn't catch sleep. A soft breeze rustled the branches, and a late season cricket was chirping nearby. The silence otherwise that surrounded him was oppressive, setting his senses on alert rather than soothing them. Rolling over to his side, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard ground, he snorted softly and muttered, the sound of his own voice in the quiet night oddly comforting, "Never thought I'd miss Henry's snoring_._" Or the hum of the camp, or Anna's quiet breathing beside him or the feel of her―.

_Stop it!_ He flung onto his other side, angry with himself. He shouldn't be thinking of her that way. Anna _trusted_ him; she'd be disgusted if she knew he was thinking of her like _that_. She'd had her fair share of guys shamelessly ogling her at the bar. And Freddy? Freddy would've killed him if he were still alive―and rightly so. Anna had loved Freddy; she was carrying his child; and she was relying on Jake to stick to his promise. The promise to keep her safe—even if that included from himself.

He sighed, the brief burst of righteous indignation already fading in the face of his exhaustion and rolled again until he was once more gazing up at the stars . She said she thought they were safe behind FEMA's fences, but Jake wasn't so certain. He didn't want to frighten her, but as winter drew near, food would grow scarcer, and what little he could smuggle into the camp wouldn't be enough to feed even their small circle. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that they should try and make for Jericho. Soon, while the weather still worked in their favor and before the winter storms moved in. Yet how could he ever persuade Anna of that?

o0o

He woke with a start, stiff, chilled and not very rested, blinking into the early morning sun shining through the apple tree leaves. The chicken―at least, he assumed it was the same one that had spooked him the day before―was clucking softly and staring at Jake, until it went back to digging for its breakfast. Jake shivered as he sat up; it had cooled considerably overnight, and the blanket he was wrapped in was coated with a smattering of dew.

Yawning widely, he scrubbed his palms over his face. He threw off the blanket and scrambled clumsily to his feet. If the heaps of fruit and vegetables he'd gathered nearby weren't enough of a reminder, his body told him in no uncertain terms he'd exerted himself the day before in ways he wasn't used to. He winced as he stretched his sore limbs and aching muscles. A night on the hard, cold ground hadn't helped any, either. He grimaced: he had survived worse, he'd live.

Turning his attention to the various piles of fruits and vegetables, his heart sank. Last night, he'd been so busy collecting whatever he could, he'd never stopped to consider the consequences. How was he going to get all that back to the camp? His backpack definitely wasn't big enough to hold it.

"Got any ideas?" he asked the chicken. It merely clucked in response and went on its merry way. Jake shook his head wryly.

Grabbing a piece of overripe fruit―too bruised to bother bringing along but okay for a quick breakfast―he considered his options. Through a window, he'd seen burlap sacks piled up in one of the tool sheds. But even with the sacks, how―? A picture presented itself in his imagination, something he'd seen in documentaries on TV, and he laughed out loud. Those women in Africa who carried their possessions on their heads made it look a lot easier than it probably was. No, even if he could use the sacks to hold his loot, he'd have to figure out a different way to lug everything to camp. Maybe he could find a cart or a wheelbarrow?

The first step was to sort his haul into what he should definitely take and what was too bruised or ripe to bother with.. At least that'd give him a clue as to how much it really was.

Draping the blanket over a nearby branch so the sun could dry it out, he set to work. Soon, he'd divided the various fruits he'd collected the previous afternoon into two piles, gratified to see that the one with the salvageable specimens was still bigger than the other. Giving the chicken a stern warning to stay out of his stash, he walked over to the farm buildings to search for what else he needed.

His memory of the sacks proved accurate. Muttering a soft apology to the owners of the farm, he used his elbow to smash the window of the shed. He didn't bother muffling the noise—he doubted any living soul was near enough to hear the glass breaking—but he couldn't help thinking back to the initial hours following the attacks and the looting in Vernon. _This is different,_ he told himself, gathering up an armful of the sacks. This was survival, not robbery.

Having collected the sacks, he went on to see if he could find something with wheels. Though it wasn't a cart, he stumbled on the answer to his problem behind one of the outbuildings. An old, rusty bicycle, its tires flat and its chain broken, lay abandoned among the weeds. He righted it and checked that the wheels still turned, if creakily. He wouldn't be able to ride it, but he could load the bags on to it and push the bike along.

It was already past noon by the time he had everything sorted and stuffed into a number of the burlap bags. Using a length of old rope that had also been in the toolshed, he succeeded in loading the bags onto the bike and tying everything in place. Surveying the contraption critically, Jake decided it'd have to do. The load left the bicycle top-heavy and liable to topple the instant he let his attention wander, but he wasn't in a great hurry. It'd take him a handful of hours to walk back to the camp, and Henry and Robin wouldn't be ready for him until two in the morning. If he arrived too early, it'd only increase the chance of him being intercepted by one of the patrols.

The walk back proved as uneventful as the hike out, and Jake neither saw nor heard any evidence of other people. He was still glad though, to catch sight of the glow of the big floodlights, making a halo against the sky now it had grown fully dark: his back had started to ache from holding himself at an awkward angle while pushing the bike, and his left heel had developed a painful blister, despite his boots having been broken in so thoroughly during the journey to Houston. He suspected the blister was also the result of not being able to walk normally.

He steered the bike off the road and through the fields, taking a wide berth around the perimeter to minimize the risk of running into a patrol. Making his way over to the northeastern corner of the camp grounds, he approached the location where Henry and Robin had agreed to meet him. With several hours to wait before they'd put in an appearance, he looked for somewhere to hide the bike. He finally settled on a clump of shrubbery that wasn't too far from the fence. Having shoved the bike under the bushes, he pulled down some branches to provide extra cover.

Satisfied nobody passing on the road would accidentally spot the bike unless they were looking for it, he slid into a nearby ditch that was muddy from last week's rain. His knees groaned and his spine protested as he sank to the ground, and he let out a sigh when he was finally able to shift his weight off his sore feet.

For a while, he simply lay back resting, gazing up at the starry sky, trying to gauge the passing of time by counting the minutes. Hearing footfalls approach on the road and the soft metallic hiss of a weapon being shifted on a shoulder, he curled down deeper into the ditch and held his breath. The sound of boots faded in the distance without the soldiers having raised any kind of alarm. With the lights were still on in the camp, Jake knew he could expect a few more passing patrols before it was time to sneak to the fence for the rendezvous.

Growing restless with waiting and weary of his own wandering thoughts, he scrambled out of the ditch and collected the lone pumpkin from the stash tied to the bike. By the dim glow of the camp's flood lights lighting up the sky behind him, he used his knife to carve a jack-o'-lantern into the pumpkin's skin.

Once the big lights eventually went out, he could no longer see well enough to go on; he'd risk cutting his fingers or carving too deeply and messing up the work he'd already done. He cleaned the knife on his sleeve before putting it away; he was pretty much finished, anyway. He entertained himself briefly by picturing showing Robin the pumpkin and imagining her reaction.

After that, with nothing to do but wait for the appointed hour to come, while the cold and damp from the mud slowly seeped through his clothes and the once-an-hour night-time patrols clumped past, he fought to stay awake. He was regretting they hadn't agreed to meet shortly after lights-out. But he was well aware the early hours of the morning were a far wiser choice. At two o'clock, even the biggest insomniacs in camp would be fast asleep and the tired guardsmen would be at their least alert, while the morning crew wouldn't have started work in the kitchen yet.

Slowly, the low drone of the camp died down to a whisper as soft as the night breeze. Finally, as Jake was peering across the rim of the ditch for a third time, wondering if he'd miscalculated the passing of the hours, he detected a faint glimmer of light shimmering through the trees beyond the fence. The light wavered, disappearing and reappearing as whoever carried it wove a path through the undergrowth. Jake got up, tiptoeing over to the fence.

"Robin? Henry?" he whispered cautiously, aware his voice would carry far in the night.

"Jake!" Two shapes approached the fence. With relief, Jake recognized his friends.

"Everyone okay?" he wanted to know.

"Everyone's fine," Henry assured him. "You're back sooner 'n I expected."

"Did you get anything?" Robin asked, reaching the fence and curling her fingers around the chicken wire.

Jake grinned, glad to hear everyone he'd left was all right, and feeling inordinately pleased with the good news he could provide in return. "Sure did. Plenty. Hang on." With another quick look up and down the track to confirm it was safe, he went to get the bike from out of under the bushes and roll it over to the fence.

"What the blazes thingamajig is that?" Henry blurted out his surprise as he saw the bike, barely recognizable for what it was under its load of lumpy sacks. Robin giggled.

"Ssh," Jake warned them. "Had to get the stuff here somehow." He loosened the rope and one by one, hoisted the heavy sacks over the fence for Robin and Henry to catch and set down. "Turnips, grapefruit... Careful, this one's apples," he warned as he lifted the next sack up to the top of the fence. "Also got squash and sweet potatoes."

Henry hesitated. "Need to cook those before we can eat 'em," he cautioned.

"I know," Jake admitted. "It seemed dumb to let them go to waste, though. I figured we'd find a way."

"Got a point." Henry took the bag of apples and added it to the rest of the heap he and Robin had created in the shadows under the trees.

Several sacks later, they were done. "Wow..." Robin bent forward, her hands on her knees as she gathered her breath. "Look at all this stuff! What you do, rob a grocery store?"

Jake snorted. "Found an organic farm, more like. Eight miles south."

"It's gonna be a tight fit to get all that in the tent," Henry observed. He chuckled and went on jokingly, "Not sure we'll have any room left for ourselves once we're done." They'd planned to hide all the food in the tent Jake and Anna were sharing with the Ginsbergers, since Robin and her mom were sleeping in one of the dormitories and they couldn't keep any kind of food cache a secret from the other women.

"We can leave the turnips and potatoes out here," Jake suggested. "Under a bush. Or we could dig a hole."

"Nah." Henry scrutinized the pile as if he were doing mental calculations. "Kids play in these trees. Or a rodent might get into it. Be a waste of your effort." He scrubbed a hand back and forth over his scalp. "The girl and I best get on with it, before that guard comes round again."

Jake bent to pick up the bike: he didn't want to leave it lying here for a patrol to stumble upon. And besides, if he could manage a second trip, it'd come in handy. Spotting the last bag, lying apart where he'd left it, nearly forgotten, he called out softly, "Robin, wait up." She turned back from making off with the first load. "I brought this specially for you." Jake reached up and dropped the jack-o'-lantern over the fence into her hands. Robin peeled back the burlap and giggled as the scary face he'd cut into the pumpkin revealed itself in the glow of her flashlight.

She beamed a smile at Jake that was so bright it outshone the flashlight. "Thank you. This is the best ever." Her voice shook.

Self-consciously, Jake grinned ruefully back. It wasn't the pumpkin itself, he knew, but the memory it provided of what life used to be like."Happy Halloween."

Robin clutched the pumpkin tight and whispered, "You too."

Henry gently laid a hand on her shoulder, reminding her wordlessly of the job they had to do.

Although he'd done all he could for the time being, Jake waited until Robin and Henry had made the several trips needed to carry everything to the tent without being detected. Then, having made sure there was no sign left of what had transpired at the fence, he stashed the bicycle back under the bush, wrapped himself in his blanket, and settled down in his ditch to catch a few hours' sleep. He'd have to wait until sunrise at least before he could put Julie-Anne's pass to the test and ask the guards to let him in.

He hoped there weren't gonna be any unpleasant surprises.

o0o


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The laminated card was as good as Julie-Anne had promised and Jake had no trouble re-entering Camp Austin. Up at first light, he'd presented his card as soon as the guards had opened the gate, trying not to fret too openly but impatient to confirm that Henry had told him the truth, that the rest of the group were all no worse for Jake's absence. The guard barely gave him a glance as he took the card and checked it against a list on his clipboard. Making a mark, he waved Jake through. Jake didn't give him time to reconsider.

To his surprise, despite the early hour, a crowd had already gathered just inside the gates, pressing up to the fence as Jake slipped in. The lack of proper food was becoming obvious in the way sweaters and jeans hung shapelessly on many of their frames―even if, Jake grumbled unkindly to himself, as he brushed past a soft, yielding beer belly, the weight loss was probably not bad thing for quite a few of them. Many, lacking jackets, were huddled inside blankets against the morning chill. Yet all of them were craning their necks to peer eagerly up the road that ran into the camp, eyes glittering feverishly, as if expecting a long-awaited parade, and the throng parted only reluctantly to allow Jake to pass. One or two of the men, scruff shadowing their jaw, shot him suspicious glances as he inadvertently jostled them, before dismissing him and refocusing on the world beyond the fence.

Pushing on through the crowd, breathing superficially when the camp's pungent smell hit him, strong after the clean country air he'd enjoyed for the last two days, Jake felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The entire camp was humming with unexplained tension and when he'd made his way through the crowd, he found the main avenue filled with grim-faced men and women, the overflow spreading out into the paths running between the rows of tents. Small groups, four or five to each cluster, stood gathered, talking heatedly with sharp gestures. What the heck had happened while he was gone?

He snatched a few words here and there as he walked by: "...hungry...", "...got sick too...", "...FEMA can't handle...", and, repeated several times, "...go home...".

It wasn't unusual to hear complaints about the way FEMA was running things, or for folks to express a desire to return to their homes, but something in the tone was different from the grumbling Jake had grown used to. He hoped Anna or Henry could tell him what was going on.

He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he'd ducked through the tent opening, gaping at the sight that greeted him, all thought of the strange behavior outside forgotten. Henry's estimate had been correct: the food he'd collected made the already small tent almost impossibly cramped, despite the sacks being hidden under the cots, leaving their personal belongings stacked high against the rear wall.

"Jake!" Anna launched herself at him from her place on their cot. "You're back." She hugged him hard, before pulling away and tilting her head so she could meet his gaze, a bright smile making her cheeks dimple.

Taken aback, but far from unhappy at the enthusiastic welcome, Jake squeezed her tight with his free arm, his backpack still dangling from the other.

She bit her lip. "I was worried that... that they might not let you in," she confessed, the pause slight enough he barely detected it.

He quirked his mouth up, giving only a fleeting thought to what else she'd maybe been about to say. He'd been worried he wouldn't be allowed back in, too. "No, Julie-Anne proved as good as her word. Besides," he shot Anna a rueful half-smirk, "I'd have found another way in."

She laughed softly, hugging him briefly a second time and murmuring, "Thank you." Retreating to the cot she made room so he could step further into the tent. Her gaze never left him as he put the backpack with the rest of their stuff.

Molly and Henry were hovering at the other side of the remaining small space , keeping quietly out of the way until Jake's reunion with Anna was over and he turned toward them.

"Welcome home, Jake." Molly's smile was warm, if not as openly delighted as Anna's. "You hungry?" She offered him half a peeled grapefruit, juice dripping from her fingers. Jake assumed it came from the supplies he'd given to Henry last night.

"Thanks, I am." He accepted the piece of fruit gladly, his stomach reminding him he hadn't eaten since the previous evening, when he'd supped on a couple of the worm-eaten apples he'd collected from the orchard and kept apart of the rest for precisely that purpose. He'd kill for a steak, or a plate of French fries with ketchup, or―.

"You sure picked a good time to go harvest huntin'." Henry's gravely voice brought Jake back to the present moment and banished the memories of how food used to be.

Jake swallowed the first bite of grapefruit and lifted a eyebrow in the other man's direction. "Hows' that?" He pointed his chin toward the front of the tent. Muted voices drifted in from outside. "What's going on out there?"

Henry's features clouded over. "Food convoy failed to show up yesterday."

"So they said there'd be no breakfast this morning." Anna's smile had faded into a worried frown. "People are very upset."

"At least they're feedin' the children." Molly wiped the knife she'd used to prepare the fruit on a handkerchief and carefully put it away among her possessions.

"Won't be able to keep that up for long, though." Henry rubbed absently at his knee through his pants, and his wife watched him with concern.

"Ravenwood never showed?" Jake ran a hand through his hair. That certainly was bad news; his work in the kitchen had taught him how dependent the camp was on the mercenaries' regular supply run. And even though he suspected they were skimming stuff off the top, if they stopped the deliveries altogether... He shuddered. The restless crowd at the gates suddenly made a lot more sense to him.

"That's why we stowed your loot out of sight as best as we could." Henry gestured at the sacks and the way they'd let the blankets hang down in front of them so that a casual passer-by looking into the tent wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

Jake nodded his approval. He'd seen what people could do to each other if they were desperate, and a canvas tent wall wouldn't offer any protection. He wished they didn't have to keep it a secret, though. There was a ton of food going to waste out there. At the farm he'd looted alone, there was enough food rotting in the fields to feed the camp for days. "Does anyone have any idea what happened to the convoy?"

"Nope." Henry hid a yawn behind his hand, evidence of his broken night hauling supplies. "FEMA assures everyone it'll be okay, and that there'll be a delivery today. T'be honest, I don't think they've got a clue what's goin' on, either."

Jake hummed unhappily. If FEMA couldn't keep the camp fed, the situation would deteriorate quickly. Then, unable to suppress it, he cracked a yawn of his own, triggered by Henry's, as the lack of sleep caught up with him.

Anna giggled, and Jake rolled his eyes ruefully at her. She patted the mattress beside her invitingly. "You should crash for a couple hours."

Jake hesitated. "I don't know. I should―."

"Robin can go with me to see the doctor."

Jake started guiltily at the reminder: with his mind so focused on the food issues, he'd completely forgotten that Anna's follow-up appointment was scheduled today.

Anna continued, seemingly not having noticed his reaction, "And you're not gonna do anyone any good if you fall over from fatigue."

Jake glanced at the cot. He had to admit, for all its thin lumpiness, the mattress looked very appealing after two nights on the hard ground. "Alright..." He could shut his eyes for a while and still be up in time for Anna's appointment at the clinic.

Anna shifted toward the corner of the cot so Jake had room to lie down. He didn't expect he'd be able to sleep, not with the sun up and the grumble of hungry people right outside the tent. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, the light and noise faded away and he drifted off.

o0o

Their section of the tent was empty when Jake woke. Someone, blocked from his view by the makeshift curtain, was humming a song. Molly, judging by the choice of tune. Jake blinked. They rarely used the screen these days; privacy had become a luxury of the past, and the space was limited as it was.

Sitting up, he discovered someone had also put a blanket over him while he slept: something else he'd not noticed. He rubbed his face and scratched absently at an itch under his shirt. A shower was definitely next on his list of things to do. He yawned as he threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the narrow cot.

"Jake? Sleep okay?"

The humming had stopped and Molly's voice drifted past the divide. Jake got to his feet and slid it aside, blinking sheepishly at Molly as she smiled up at him. She was sitting on the edge of her own bunk, cutting turnips and apples and collecting the pieces in a plastic bowl balanced in her lap.

"Yes, thanks." He yawned. "How long was I out?"

Molly shrugged. "Four or five hours, I think."

Jake started, surprised. "That long?" Anna's appointment was early in the afternoon. Not that the camp's clinic stuck to any kind of real schedule; with far too few doctors and a large number of small emergencies cropping up on a daily basis, it could be hours until one of the staff had time to actually see her. He swung toward the tent flap. "I should―."

"Jake, calm down." Molly laughed. "Anna'll be fine. Robin's gone with her."

"But―." Even as he uttered the protest, he asked himself how she'd known what he was going to say.

"Sit down, will you?" Molly gestured with the knife. "You're giving me a crick in my neck." She reached for the next apple and sliced it in two. "She said to let you sleep. She'll talk to you after she'd seen the doctor."

"Oh." Tempted to go after Anna anyway, Jake did as Molly asked and plopped back down on his cot. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them. He was stiff and sore from handling the bike at that awkward angle. As he lifted his head again, he saw Molly's hands had stilled, holding the two apple halves while she looked at him thoughtfully.

"What's wrong?" he asked, resisting the urge to comb a hand through his hair and confirm it wasn't sticking out at a funny angle.

"Nothin'." Molly shook her head. "Nothing at all. Was thinkin' how lucky we are to have you."

"Um..." Jake squirmed, his cheeks growing warm. He wasn't sure he deserved the praise. All he'd done―.

"You could've gone on, you know. To that place in Kansas you were talking about."

Jake stared at Molly, at first not understanding. "What?" he blurted, shocked and a mite offended. "Did Anna―I'd never do that! She's―." He broke off. _My best friend's fianc_é_e; and I made a promise to a dying man. _"My―my wife."

"Of course she is, dear, don't get your undies in a bundle." Molly's mouth curved up as if she was amused at a private joke. Jake had no clue what there was to smile about. For one horrified second, he was convinced she was seeing right through the lie. Molly finished removing the apple's core and dropped the pieces into the bowl with the rest of the fruit as she added, "And nobody's accusing you. She missed you, is all."

Jake was as taken aback by this revelation as he had been with the notion Anna might think he'd abandon her. Truth was, he'd missed her too, both during the cold night under the stars in the orchard and last night in the ditch as he waited for day to arrive. Anna missing _him_? _Just the circumstances,_ he reminded himself,_ that's all._ Right now, and until they could find out if any of her family had survived, he was the only one she had.

"You're a good man, Jake." Molly leaned over to rummage through the bag at her feet for a fresh piece of fruit. "Don't see much of that kind of loyalty nowadays. Me and Henry, we've been married for a long time, but you young people―." She paused as she critically examined the new apple she'd dug up.

"Where is Henry, anyway?" Jake asked, using Molly's momentary distraction to change the subject. He wanted to talk to the other man, get his opinion on whether they should dig holes under their cots to hide the food more securely.

"Out for a stroll." Frowning, Molly sliced through the apple with her knife. "His hip's been botherin' him. Exercise'll keep it from locking up."

"I'm sorry." Henry wasn't a young man by any means, and Jake regretted he'd been made to lug heavy bags of vegetables half the night. If Jake's own back and shoulders were sore, he could only imagine what shape Henry must be in. The man had to be close to three times Jake's age and the hard work couldn't have been easy for him.

Molly gave Jake a startled blink. "Don't be. Couldn't be helped. And you made sure we won't go hungry any time soon."

"The food convoy still hasn't arrived yet?" Jake bent to search for his towel and their bar of soap. If Henry was out, and Anna didn't need him, he could try and grab that shower―assuming the lines at the washrooms weren't too long. And while the water usually ranged from tepid to lukewarm, it might help with his sore shoulders.

"Not that I heard."

_Dammit_. That was not good, not at all. Jake found the soap and slipped it into his pocket as he got to his feet.

Molly sighed, adding sadly, "We got turnip and apple salad for supper, at least." She tapped the bowl on her knees with the knife, her brow furrowed unhappily. "I sure wish I had some spices, though."

"What do you need?" Jake slung the towel around his neck and grabbed a clean shirt. "I can try to get something from the kitchens." The camp might lack in actual food, but last time he'd checked, they were well-stocked in salt and herbs. He'd just have to come up with a credible excuse that wouldn't raise suspicions.

"The usual." Molly shook the bowl to mix the pieces of fruit and root. "Salt, pepper. Parsley, if you can find it. Lemon juice would be good, too, although we can make do with grapefruit juice if need be."

"I'll see what I can do. I won't be long." Committing Molly's wish list to his memory, Jake left the tent.

En route to the shower, he decided to swing by the kitchens first. The cooks had been friendly enough during the time he'd worked at the mess hall, and he might be able to wheedle the spices and herbs Molly wanted out of one of them, without needing to steal them. However, the building was locked up tight and there wasn't a cook in sight. A crowd had gathered on the trampled field before the hall and was staring sullenly up at the National Guardsmen lined up on the stoop in front of the padlocked doors. The Guardsmen were nervously fingering their weapons and Jake sense the armed men's presence was all that was keeping the camp's populace from breaking down the doors and looting whatever they could find inside.

Not that they'd find a lot to loot. The cooks used up the supplies almost as soon as they came in. Turning away and heading for the showers, Jake prayed Ravenwood's truckload of supplies would show up soon, or things could get very ugly very quickly. Being driven from their homes, cooped up in the camp and left constantly hungry for weeks had all fed the refugees' sense of frustration. All it would take would be a single spark for the current tense situation to flare up into a blaze.

Perhaps Jake should try again to convince the authorities to send out foraging parties to bring in provisions independent of Ravenwood. He should talk to Julie-Anne. Maybe she could help him convince the administrator that the old rules no longer applied.

Reaching the showers, Jake discovered a small upside to everyone being so focused on the missing convoy: the washrooms were quieter than usual and he had to wait only a short time for a stall to become available. Thankful for small favors, he lathered up, enjoying the way the lukewarm dribble from the shower head washed away the dirt and grime he'd collected over the past few days.

Clean and refreshed, he returned to the tent to drop off his dirty shirt, damp towel and soap, and to tell Molly that, unfortunately, he hadn't yet been able to score the desired spices. She shrugged, as ever trying to keep up her good spirits, with only the slight tightening of her lips telling Jake how the constant reminders of their situation were wearying her. Not knowing what else to say, Jake left her to her salad. He should check up on Anna, anyway, see how she was getting on at the med center.

He never made it as far as the clinic. As he headed away from the tent, a loud roar rose up from the direction of the front gate. For an instant, Jake's chest tightened: had the dreaded spark found the powder keg already?

But the howl hadn't been angry. It had sounded like... like the home team scoring a touch-down in the final seconds. Jake smiled ruefully at the comparison. Whatever the reason, a noise like that had to be a good thing.

Picking up the pace, he trotted toward the commotion to check out its source. A heavily-burdened deuce and a half was lumbering through the gate. Jake let out a sigh of relief: the food shipment had arrived at last.

An eager crowd surged toward the truck, quickly swallowing Jake up in its midst. Boys were running ahead of the vehicle, forcing the driver to slow down and take care not to run them over. On either side, people were shouting questions at the Ravenwood guards in the truck bed. They jumped down as soon as the truck drew up next to the doors to the kitchen and formed a half-circle to keep the hungry throng back.

"Jake, c'mon, give us a hand!" The head cook grabbed Jake's sleeve as he pushed by. "Sooner we get that stuff stored out of sight, the better."

Jake couldn't agree more. Though the arrival of new supplies had changed the mood in the camp from strained and anxious to joyous, it could as easily shift again at the slightest provocation. He kept close on the cook's heels as the man pushed through the Ravenwood cordon, jerking a thumb across his shoulder at Jake. "He's with me."

One of the men up on the truck had already lowered the tailgate. Jake climbed up and started to help lift the boxes—canned goods, baby formula and fresh produce, to judge from the labels on the sides—down into the hands of the other kitchen staff, who scurried up and down the mess hall steps, taking everything inside. Alongside the boxes, there were sacks of rice and flour, and bags full of potatoes, heavier than the boxes. Soon, his clean shirt was stained with fresh sweat; looked like his shower had been a wasted effort. Not that it mattered; there were far more important things than cleanliness. For the next couple days, at least, nobody in the camp would need to go to sleep on an empty stomach.

As he manhandled another sack across the truck bed, Jake absently noticed that the crowd watching had grown to at least twice its original size and was pressing closer, with the guards now hard-pressed to keep everyone under control. Taking the supplies inside had turned into running a gauntlet of shoving bodies and hands reaching between the soldiers bodies to snatch at the boxes and sacks.

"C'mon, folks! Give us room." One of the Ravenwood troops―the squad's leader―joined Jake and the others in the bed of the truck so he was visible to more of the crowd. He raised his voice and added, "Let these guys to their job."

"Their job?" a voice in the crowd shouted. "Steal what they can, you mean!"

"Yeah!" a second man agreed. "I bet those cooks never let 'em own bellies go empty!"

Next to Jake, the head cook froze. He dropped the sack of rice he was holding and straightened, nostrils flaring.

"Don't," Jake urged, snatching the cook's arm to hold him back. "Ignore them. You'll make it worse."

"Didn't you hear?" the cook snarled, shaking loose from Jake's grip. "They said we're thieves!" His eyes flashed with hurt as much as anger.

"It's not fair, I know." The cooks did their utmost to stretch the meager supplies so they could feed the whole camp, and Jake knew for a fact they didn't eat any better than the people they were serving. Grabbing the bag of rice the cook had dropped and hoisting it over to the edge of the truck, he positioned it ready to hand down. "But they're hungry and scared and upset. They don't know what they're saying."

The cook grumbled unhappily but, to Jake's relief, hooked his hands into a sack of flour from the next stack, accepting Jake's advice to ignore the accusations.

The throng itself wasn't so easily appeased. Again and again, they surged against the cordon of guards, like waves crashing onto the shore. Jake saw the nearest guards sway under the onslaught.

"Back! Get _back_!" The Ravenwood leader shouted, while his men, with their arms linked, leaned into the crowd, using their body weight to keep them at bay. "There'll be plenty for everyone later."

"We want to eat!" a man shouted.

"My kids are hungry!" a woman's voice joined in.

The head cook exchanged a concerned look with Jake as he passed another sack to one of the men on the ground. "We gotta hurry."

Grunting his agreement, Jake grabbed the next box. They'd offloaded around half of the supplies already, but he wasn't sure how much longer the Ravenwood troops would be able to keep everything under control.

And while Jake had half-expected it, or something like it, when it went down, it happened so fast he barely had time to register how. The head cook had lowered a cardboard box filled with canned peaches onto another man's shoulder. On his way into the building, the man tripped. Whether it was over his own feet or because someone had made him stumble, Jake couldn't tell. Letting out a startled cry as he windmilled to keep his balance, the man lost his hold on the peaches. The box smacked to the ground, the cardboard splitting open, and cans began rolling every which way. The nearest guards reflexively stooped to help gather up the cans—and the line broke.

With a triumphant cry, the front row of people swooped in, ducking under or past the guards to try and collect as many of the cans as they could grab. It was as if it was the signal everyone had been waiting for. The whole crowd shifted, the full power of hundreds of bodies crashing into the guards' cordon. They were far too few to hold out against that kind of force and the rest of the line crumpled. In the blink of an eye, people were swarming over the truck and the men carrying the supplies inside.

"_Goddammit_!" The Ravenwood leader cursed viciously as he saw his men go down. He jumped from the truck.

"Sir?" The guard nearest the truck swung his M-16 around and pointed it at the crowd.

"No!" Jake cried out, horrified. If he fired at such close range, it'd turn into a bloodbath.

"Hold your fire!" the squad leader snapped at the guard.

The truck was shaking on its springs as people tried to climb up on all sides. The cook and the other men who'd been working to unload it were hollering at them. A few feet away, men and women were dashing in and out of the doors to the kitchen, making off with whatever they could grab. Jake glimpsed a stooped old man hurrying away with an armful of cans of baby formula, while a fat woman huffed and puffed under the weight of a bag of rice as she stumbled past.

"Tear gas." The squad leader raised his voice to be heard over the racket as he shouted his orders at his men. "Put on masks!" They scrambled to comply, while the leader snatched a black canister that dangled from his vest and lobbed it into the crowd. It burst a second later and acrid smoke billowed up. People screamed, trampling each other in their panic to get away from the stinging smoke.

Jake watched helplessly. The fumes drifted toward the truck and made his eyes water, but he could see the mayhem was no longer contained to the area around the truck: it was spreading through the camp like wildfire. Anywhere he looked, people were running this way and that. Objects started flying through the air, rocks dug from the soil, and even cans of food, whatever people got their hands on. Mothers were shrieking for their children; grown men were shoving at each other, fists flying; and a number of the Ravenwood troops had followed their leader's example and set off more tear gas grenades. Tendrils of biting smoke drifted in all directions, casting everything in an otherworldly fog.

A window shattered in the next building over. Jake's heart jumped into his throat: that was the med center. What if Anna was still inside...? Or worse, what if she'd finished her appointment and she and Robin had been walking back to the tent when the riot broke out? They could be smack in the middle of things!

No longer caring about protecting the few crates left in the truck, Jake yanked his T-shirt up over his nose and mouth and jumped down into the fray. Shots were ringing out, despite the squad leader's earlier orders not to fire. Holding his breath as long as he could, Jake shoved and clawed through the throng, which, luckily for him, was moving in a general direction away from the truck and the tear gas. Coughing, hardly able to see where he was going because of the tears streaming down his face, he stumbled up the three steps into the clinic. Inside, the waiting was room in ruins, a mess of toppled chairs and strewn papers.

"Anna?" he shouted. "Anna!" Getting no reply, he raced along the narrow corridor, pulling aside curtains blocking off treatment cubicles and flinging open doors. He found frightened strangers blinking back at him, and a furious nurse who threatened to hit him with a bedpan.

More afraid than he'd been since the night Freddy died, Jake ran back out of the hospital, blinking away the last of the tear gas and sweeping his gaze across the camp. The riot was slowing, with a contingent of National Guard soldiers having joined the besieged Ravenwood troops around the truck. But the results were visible in all directions: broken glass and debris littered the open ground; shell-shocked people, unsure what had happened, lay sprawled across the dirt; and a number of rioters were bleeding from cuts to their faces and hands, while others cradled broken bones. Jake swallowed down his nausea as he surveyed the wreckage, an image from his time in Iraq flashing before him. Once, he'd been nearby when a suicide bomber had set off his device in a crowded marketplace, and what he saw now wasn't that different from what he'd seen then.

God, if anything had happened to Anna...

Steeling himself, Jake skipped down the steps, and started searching the crowd systematically, his gaze roving from one group to the next, scanning for a familiar face. Not far from the clinic, he came upon the unmoving body of a dark-haired woman. She was lying face-first in the dirt, her hair fanning out.

_Don't let it be Anna,_ Jake prayed silently, while he checked the woman for a pulse. Finding none, he gently rolled the body over. A sob of relief escaped him: it wasn't anyone he'd ever seen before. Feeling guilty over his relief―she was someone's wife, mother, daughter―he sucked in several deep breaths, ignoring the stench of blood and lingering gas, and gathered up enough of his courage to keep searching.

Thirty minutes later, after he'd gone over the entire field and hadn't found a sign of Anna, it finally occurred to him that there was a chance she'd already been gone from the clinic by the time everything went to hell. Huffing at himself for being such an idiot―in his panic, he'd never stopped to consider the possibility―and with cautious hope flaring in his chest, he loped back to their tent as fast as he could. Tents close to the main track had been overrun during the riot, their contents trampled into the dirt. Thankfully, though, the trouble—which had looked like it was raging across the entire camp while he'd been the middle of it—hadn't spread too far. Not long after he turned on the path leading to his tent, everything started looking as it always did, as if nothing bad had happened at all. Jake's hopes grew.

And even in the growing dusk, Jake instantly recognized Anna among the small group standing and talking outside their tent.

"Anna, thank God." He hurried his final steps, pulling her to him as soon as he reached her, not giving her the chance to say anything. He hugged her so tightly, inhaling her scent, that she squeaked in protest. Reluctant to let go, he cupped her face between his hands instead, scanning her features intently. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Anna put her fingers on his wrists and pulled his hands down. But she didn't let go of him entirely. "Jake, what happened? People were running, and we heard screaming, and these _pops_ that sounded like gunfire...?"

"Things got out of control with the food delivery, and there was a riot. People got hurt. God, I was so worried." After his frantic search, he was having trouble processing what his eyes told him: that she was unharmed. "I thought you might still be at the clinic..."

"No, we got here right before all that happened. Jake, I'm fine!"

He reached up to touch her cheek, as if to confirm what he saw, and she laughed uncomfortably.

"Jake, have you seen Henry?" Molly's anxious question finally made Jake turn away from Anna. Molly, Robin and Helen were all looking at him, hope alternating with concern.

"Henry isn't here?" Abruptly, his elation at finding Anna left him. "No, I haven't seen him. He's probably waiting for everyone to calm down."

"We should go find him." Sounding determined, Anna brushed past Jake.

"No." He grabbed her elbow. She glared at him, and he added, "Please. Stay here." He met the other women's gazes one by one. "All of you. It's... it's not safe." Even with the riot over, the guards would be nervous and trigger-happy. And he didn't want Anna or Robin to have to see what he had: the bodies, the injured, the utter destruction. "I'll find him."

o0o

Jake finally tracked down Henry after he returned to the clinic. A semblance of order had been restored to the waiting room, with the debris swept into a corner and the chairs righted. Every seat was occupied as the harried medical staff fixed up the dozens of wounded from the riot as best as they could. The majority of those waiting had cuts and bruises or broken bones, but Jake reckoned the most serious injuries would've already been taken care of.

A nurse was cleaning dried blood off of Henry's face when Jake snuck a peek around the curtain of the cubicle indicated by the receptionist. Jake released a sigh of relief to see the old man alive and apparently not too badly hurt. "You okay? We were worried when you didn't get back to the tent."

Henry blinked rapidly in Jake's direction. "Got trampled." He let out a wry snort. The nurse muttered an annoyed warning and Henry shot her an apologetic grin. "Last time that happened," he went on, "was forty years ago. Found myself in the path of a spooked cow." He winced as the nurse dabbed at a cut on his face with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. "Easy there, sweetheart."

She didn't seem to hear him; she finished her work quickly and, after slapping some butterfly band-aids over the worst of the cuts, scurried off to fetch her next patient. Watching her go, Jake recognized her: she was the same woman who'd threatened him with the bedpan earlier. He gave an inward shake of his head at the memory. "Ready to go home?"

"Hell, yeah."

As Henry pushed off from the bed's edge, Jake's brow furrowed. "You're limping," he pointed out.

Henry grimaced. "You try scramblin' outta the way of a stampede with a bum hip."

Jake spread his hands in apology. "Hey, just sayin', maybe you should have a doctor take a look at that?"

Henry took a cautious step toward the curtain, testing his leg. "What're they gonna do? Give me a new hip? Nah, even if they could, I'm too old for that." He let go off the bed and clamped his hand on Jake's shoulder for support. "Gemme out of here. Hospital smell makes me sick."

Not entirely agreeing with Henry's choice, Jake ducked under his arm so he could prop him up more securely. They slowly shuffled out of the medical center and toward their tent. Night had fallen while Jake was inside and the flood lights cast hard shadows across the camp. Shards of glass, splinters of wood and torn cardboard littered the ground around the mess hall, and a couple of black-clad Ravenwood troops were finishing up putting boards over the broken windows of the mess building, their automatic weapons slung on their backs. Jake was glad to see the bodies of the dead had been carried off.

According to FEMA's count, three people had died, and several dozen others had been injured, some of them seriously. The news, which Jake had caught up on as he was searching for Henry, had been bad enough to subdue the last of the restless crowds roaming the main track, and the refugees had withdrawn to their tents or dormitories. To be on the safe side, the camp's administrator had announced a curfew anyway. The Ravenwood guys outside the mess hall gave Jake and Henry narrow-eyed stares as they hobbled by, but didn't stop them. They had more trouble with a pair of nervous National Guardsmen patrolling the camp. They blocked the path as Jake and Henry turned into the track leading to their tent, demanding to know what they were doing out and where they were going.

"We've come from the med center," Jake explained, outwardly calm. They were only doing their job, even if he didn't think this was the smartest way to go about it. He flapped his free hand in the general direction of their tent. "We're just getting back." The guards reluctantly let them pass, likely more convinced by the sight of Henry's pale, bruised and freshly band-aided face than Jake's words.

Reaching their tent without further delay, Jake held the flap aside to allow Henry in.

"Thank goodness!" Molly sprang up from her cot with amazing agility for someone her age. "Oh dear...," she added in a whisper as she took in her husband's injuries. Jake stepped aside to let Molly hug Henry tightly to her, even as her husband awkwardly patted her back, muttering a soothing, "Hey, hey..." into her hair.

Self-conscious about witnessing their emotional reunion, Jake joined Anna at the other side of the tent and reached for the curtain to pull it across. Molly let go of Henry so she could turn her face toward him. Tears glistened in her eyes, further evidence of the fear and anguish she'd suffered for her missing husband. "Thank you."

Jake shrugged awkwardly, embarrassed with her gratitude. Pulling the curtain across the rest of the way, he fell on to the cot next to Anna. He leaned forward to start unlacing his boots. "Robin and Helen go back to their own place?"

"Uh-huh." Anna shifted to her knees on the mattress and laid a warm hand on his back. Jake couldn't say if it was to offer consolation or to find it. Considering the day they'd had, he didn't mind either way. "Robin wanted to stay until you got back," Anna continued, "but when the curfew was announced, Helen insisted they go."

Jake kicked off his boots and lay down on the thin mattress. Despite his earlier nap, he was tired. "Yeah. That was best." The guardsmen had been jittery and agitated, and it wouldn't be a good idea to be sneaking around the camp in the dark. He imagined trying to smuggle food in tonight as opposed to last night: thank God for small favors.

"Jake!" Molly had helped Henry over to their own cot before turning back. "We left you some salad." Through the gap left in the dividing curtain where he hadn't pulled it complete across, Jake saw her shuffle toward the rear of the tent, returning a moment later and slipping through the opening. Squinting up at her in the gloom, Jake saw she was holding out a cup to him, filled to the brim with pieces of the apples and turnips she'd been preparing earlier.

He didn't have much of an appetite, but he sat back up, not wanting to refuse. "Thanks." He accepted the offering with a smile. The apple bits had gone brown and a little soft. "Sorry I never got you your spices." He picked out a slice of apple and put it in his mouth.

"Never mind that." Molly waved away his apology. "It'd have tasted better, sure, but I'm very glad we're all here, and we're all alive and well." She returned to her own cot and Jake saw her snuggle close against Henry's side.

Jake couldn't argue with that. Nor could he argue with the fact that the first bite of supper had made him realize he was hungry after all. He wolfed down the rest in silence.

o0o

Once he'd finished with the salad, he wiped out the sticky mug. As he was finishing up, the floodlights outside went dark, plunging the tent into an even deeper darkness. Molly and Henry had withdrawn under the covers, and Jake checked the dividing curtain was properly closed this time.

The space that remained was so small that he and Anna had to take turns getting ready for bed, or risk tripping over each other at every step. Jake waited until Anna had put on her night shirt and crawled under the blankets. Scooting out of his jeans and shirt, he quickly followed suit.

He found it hard to catch sleep, despite his fatigue. From the jerky breathing next to him, he could tell Anna was awake as well. He assumed she was going over the same things in her mind as he was: the food riot, the casualties, and just how quickly the orderly camp had descended into deadly anarchy.

After thirty minutes, by Jake's reckoning, of gazing up unseeingly at the dark canvas and listening to Henry's soft snoring through the curtain, Anna broke the silence with an almost inaudible, "Jake?"

He answered her as softly. "Yeah?"

She was quiet for so long he was beginning to think she wasn't going to say anything else. "Today was bad, wasn't it? People _died_..."

"Yeah, it was." As bad as the day Freddy had been murdered. As bad as some of the days during his time in Afghanistan and Iraq. Worse, in a way, because this was America and not a war-torn foreign country.

Anna shifted around and lifted herself on an elbow. She wouldn't be able to make out his face as anything more the the pale blur that was all he could see of hers. "What did you see?"

"Anna..." Jake fell silent. It wasn't so much what he'd seen―he'd seen worse―as the terror he'd experienced once it occurred to him she could've been caught up in the mayhem. He didn't know how to tell her that, or what she'd think if he did.

"'s Okay." She was quiet for a minute, before putting her head back on the pillow next to his. "Freddy never wanted to talk about it, either." She fumbled around for Jake's hand lying on top of the blanket, and twined her fingers through his, squeezing lightly. Jake squeezed back, grateful that he could, that she was safe. That they were all safe, at least for the night.

o0o


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

To a superficial spectator visiting Camp Austin, it would appear as if nothing bad had ever happened. The sun came up behind a cover of thin clouds and breakfast was served at the usual hour in the usual way. For anyone looking more closely, however, the differences were obvious. The mess hall was in deep gloom thanks to the boarded-up windows and the diners were more subdued: people talked little and in low tones, and nobody tried to cut in line as the cooks handed out the allotted portions quickly and efficiently.

Jake approved of FEMA's tactics. The fastest way to get everyone back to normal was to restore the daily routine as soon as possible. Being able to actually feed the hungry camp with what they'd salvaged from the riot would go a long way, too.

The head cook squinted at Jake through a half-closed eye around which the puffed up skin was turning a spectacular shade of purple. "Could've used your help this morning." He splattered porridge into Jake's bowl.

"Sorry." Jake gave a one-armed shrug. "I didn't realize the kitchen would be open. Not after—." He gave another shoulder roll, not needing to explain further.

The cook shook his head sadly, the irritation draining out of him. "'s Kay, I guess. Best you take care of that pretty wife o' yours."

"Does it hurt?" Anna asked softly, indicating the man's black eye with a quick dip of her head.

It was the cook's turn to shrug. "Only when I think about it."

Anna smiled faintly. "When Freddy got into fights," she said, half to herself, half to the cook, "I gave him a raw steak to put on it to keep the swelling down."

The cook barked a laugh. "Ma'am, if I had any steak, I'd have better use for it than slapping it on my ugly mug!" The cook's tone remained gruff, but Jake didn't miss how his features had softened further.

"Or a slice of onion!" Anna perked up. "We have―."

Jake shoved his full bowl at Anna, snatching her empty one with his other hand. Color rose in her cheeks and she lowered her head. Jake held out her bowl for the cook to fill up.

The cook dipped his ladle in the cauldron, apparently not having picked up on their strange behavior as Jake prevented Anna from blurting out their secret. "Wasn't sure where you ran off to yesterday," he remarked to Jake, "and then you didn't show up for work this morning..." Scooping oatmeal into Anna's bowl, he went on, "Glad to see you and yours are okay."

"Thanks." The press of hungry people behind them forced them onward, and Jake quickly added, "Be there later," to assure the cook he'd help out with supper. He joined Anna and Molly at a table in the corner where the three of them could sit together. As he spooned the thin porridge into his mouth, he watched the two women talk quietly, his mind preoccupied. The cook was right: they _had_ been lucky. While Henry had stayed behind in the tent, claiming his hip had locked up and he'd need time to loosen it, all in all, it could've ended so much worse. Yes, they got lucky... this time.

He'd brought up the idea of going to Jericho again during the stroll to the mess hall. The riot had convinced him the camp wasn't safe for them any longer. Anna remained stubborn in rejecting his proposal: each time he answered one objection, she had a new one. He'd found it increasingly hard to remain patient.

Before he could figure out how to broach the subject again without risking it turning into a full-blown argument, Molly's words to Anna reached his ear.

"Sweetie, you should listen to Jake. It's no longer safe for you to stay." Molly shifted on the hard-backed chair and put down her empty bowl. "You two should go. Leave this place."

Anna didn't reply right away. When she finally did speak, her voice was full of unshed tears. "What about you and Henry?"

Jake bit his tongue. Best he let Molly do the talking for now.

"Honey," Molly smiled warmly at Anna, "me and Henry, we're far too old to go. And Henry's got that bad hip." She shook her head. "No, a trip like that would be much too tiring for us. We're better off staying and taking our chances here. But you and Jake, you're young and strong." She leaned over and patted Anna's hand. "Plus, you have the baby to think of."

Jake snuck a glance from under his lashes to gauge how Anna was taking Molly's words. She was chewing her lip doubtfully. To be honest, he didn't like leaving Molly and Henry behind either. Their chances of lasting out the winter in the camp would be low if FEMA couldn't find more food. But Molly also spoke the truth: they'd never survive the long walk to Jericho, and with the supplies he'd brought, they'd have a better chance than most of surviving. Especially if he and Anna weren't around to eat their share of the haul.

"But... but what if there's news of my parents? What if they get here, and I'm... I'm _not_?"

Jake groaned inwardly and clamped down on the urge to drop his head on the table. He settled for giving Anna a sharp look that went unnoticed. She couldn't really believe something so unlikely was a good reason to risk her own life by staying, could she? Granted, without official confirmation, it wasn't entirely impossible her parents had survived the Houston blast―stranger things had happened―but it was extremely improbable they survived all these weeks without any of the aid agencies stumbling onto them. In fact, the odds of winning the lottery were greater than the odds Anna's parents would ever reach Camp Austin.

"Sweetheart, is that's what's bothering you?" Molly's slight head shake in Jake's direction kept him quiet as she went on, "Going away isn't the same as givin' up hope."

Jake blinked guiltily as Molly cut straight to the heart of the matter. He hadn't really thought Anna actually disagreed with him, deep down, about whether the camp would be safe or not. But he'd assumed that what daunted her was the long journey to Jericho, and he'd been so focused on demonstrating why all her practical objections were wrong―true, if they went away, they'd have to fend for themselves and deal with road gangs and the weather, but having a tent over their heads or a small clinic nearby would also be of small use if―no, when―another, bigger riot broke out―that he'd failed to consider her objections might be rooted in something else entirely.

"If anyone comes and asks for you, we'll be here, me and Henry," Molly pointed out. "We can tell your parents you went north with Jake and that you're okay."

"You'd do that?" Jake had to strain to make out Anna's words over the general hum around them.

Molly reached across the table, putting her hand over Anna's. "Of course we would, sweetie."

Anna was silent for a long time, and Jake was afraid she wouldn't accept Molly's reassurances. But if he couldn't get her to leave now, after what had happened, he didn't think he'd ever be able to convince her to go.

To his surprise and relief, when she spoke at last, it was to admit hesitantly, a shudder running through her, "I don't want to leave you and Henry. You've been so good to me―to us. But maybe... maybe Jake and I should go to Kansas."

Molly rested her fingers lightly on top of Anna's hand where it lay flat on the table. "Yes, honey, I think you should."

Glad beyond belief, Jake mouthed a silent "Thank you" at Molly.

"I saw that." Anna glared at him, and Jake hunched his shoulders sheepishly . He didn't feel bad, though. By intuiting what was really bothering Anna, Molly had achieved what Jake, with all his rational arguments, wouldn't have been able to do, and they'd all be better off for it.

Anna sighed, her annoyed expression already slipping away as she pulled her hand free from Molly's and hugged herself. She cleared her throat and said, her voice still shaking, "How soon did you want to go?"

"Soon as we can." Jake's heart swelled at her courage and he'd have hugged her, except the table was between them. This was hard on her in so many ways. Yet she was showing him once again that, when she made up her mind, she wasn't one to look back or dither. And the quicker they left, the easier it would be for her. He pushed his chair back and got up. "We're gonna need to put some stuff together first, though: provisions, supplies..."

Molly and Anna also got up, Molly slipping her arm through Anna's as they made their way out of the mess hall. Jake followed, dropping off the empty bowls as he went. His mind was whirring crazily, trying to catalog all the things they might need during a long hike halfway across the continent: food, clothes, flashlights, a knife... He wished he hadn't lost the gun, but it'd be pointless to try and get it back.

He drew level with the women. "We need to figure out how to bring the sleeping bags." He doubted FEMA would let them walk out of the gate with government-supplied property, but winter was approaching; it'd get colder as they moved further north and their old airline blankets would never suffice.

"We could do it like you smuggled in the food." Molly darted a quick glance around to confirm nobody was close enough to overhear. "Have Henry pass what you need over the fence."

Jake considered it. It would require careful timing, and he and Anna would have to wait around for nightfall after they left the camp, losing precious time until Henry could bring the bags to the fence. He also hated the idea of burdening Henry for a second time with a night-time assignment, especially with his bad hip. And unless FEMA lifted the curfew, it'd be dangerous as well as exhausting. If they caught Henry, they might decide to turn him and Molly out. On the other hand, Molly also had a compelling point: it was the easiest way to ensure he and Anna had everything they needed. When they'd left Vernon last month, they'd been ill-prepared for a long journey on foot, and Jake wasn't about to repeat the mistake. Not when the stakes were Anna's life and the baby's.

o0o

Anna took to the preparations for the journey with a fierceness that was in stark contrast to her earlier reluctance to leave. She and Jake sorted through the various edibles, choosing the least fragile and most nutritious items, while making sure they would still be able to carry them. They left the rest of the food for Molly and Henry, to be shared with Robin and Helen, to help them survive the coming winter. Jake put together a rudimentary first-aid kit, which held a roll of bandage, a handful of Tylenol and several band-aids for blisters. Henry won them a set of spare batteries for the flashlight by playing cards with a couple guys from other tents, while Molly offered Anna her traveling sewing kit, full of needles and thread. Jake topped off his backpack with a hodgepodge of items he expected to find useful: a collection of matchbooks printed with the names of various restaurants, a length of rope several feet long, half a roll of duct tape, the aluminum pot Molly had used to boil water in when her stove still had fuel to burn, and a number of other odds and ends.

At last, the morning before Halloween, the day came that they planned to leave. FEMA, inadvertently cooperative, had lifted the curfew the day before, so Henry wouldn't run a greater risk than usual in passing Jake and Anna's packs over the fence later that night. Waiting for Anna to return from making a final trip to the restroom, Jake inspected their packs: his own old backpack and a rucksack that Helen had offered them. He went through the contents one last time to confirm they hadn't forgotten anything and to check everything had been packed correctly, with the heaviest items at the bottom and those susceptible to rain wrapped in plastic.

A folded sheepskin coat was tied on top of Anna's pack, also a gift from Molly. Jake checked the straps holding it in place to make sure they were tight. It was something they could ill afford to lose as they got further north.

Anna had refused to accept it the first time Molly had tried to give the coat to her. Fingering the soft leather sleeve admiringly, she'd remarked, "It's beautiful. But Molly, I can't accept this."

"Of course you can. Here, take it." Molly pushed the coat at Anna a second time. "What am I gonna do with it?"

"Wear it, of course!"

Molly chuckled lightly. "Winters don't get that cold around here, dear. I don't know what I was thinking, bringing it with me in the first place."

"You could sell it." Anna crossed her arms in front of her chest, as if to prevent Molly from giving her the coat. "Or―or trade it for food, or whatever you guys need."

Molly's expression grew serious. "You'll have more need of this before you get to Kansas than I will of food." She gestured with her free hand at the cots, where the bags of fruit and vegetables lay out of sight, buried under the dirt. "We got plenty to eat. But you? You'll freeze to death before you get where you're going if you're wearing _that_." She'd aimed a finger at the summer jacket Anna had brought with her from San Diego. "Now, take it. Please."

Anna hesitated as Molly offered her the coat a third time, visibly swallowing back another objection, before she took the coat, her movements slow. "Thank you." She clutched the sheepskin to her chest, her words choked with unshed tears. "I―I'll get it back to you. I promise."

"You do that, honey." Molly's own eyes glistened suspiciously. "You do that."

Jake had been quietly sharpening the blade of his pocket-knife while the two women talked. Judging by the way Molly had held Anna to her, squishing the sheepskin between them, she understood she and Henry might not be alive by the time the country got back to normal. It had saddened Jake. He'd wished he could―.

_Well_, he finished his inspection of Anna's gear, there were a lot of things he was wishing for right now. What was that saying? If wishes were horses...? He sighed; he should focus his energy on what he could do. Such as taking Anna to Jericho. They'd be safe there, with April to take care of her and the baby. As for the rest... He shook off the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. The rest would have to take care of itself.

Done with Anna's pack, Jake gave his own a final check. It was burdened with one of the two heavy sleeping bags they were taking with them, rolled into a tight bundle. While he made sure that the bag was also strapped tight, he was tempted to check that the gun remained securely hidden deep in its folds.

He chuckled ruefully as he resisted the temptation, remembering how he'd been mad as hell when Anna and Robin presented him with the weapon. In retrospect, he didn't know whether it was because of the danger those two had put themselves in or because he'd needed an outlet for the sheer relief of discovering Anna was fine after receiving the frightening news that his 'wife' had collapsed on the grass and been rushed off to the clinic.

Heart pounding in his chest, he'd dropped what he was doing and loped off to the med center as quickly as he could. Once there, he'd discovered Anna sitting up on a bed, her mouth twitching with barely concealed humor, Robin slouched in a chair next to her, unconcerned but looking pleased as punch, while a FEMA doctor finished his examination.

Confused by the clash of their current demeanor and the terrible images his imagination had conjured up, Jake had goggled at the doctor.

"Ah, Mr. Green." The doctor had smiled reassuringly. "As I was just telling your wife, there's nothing to trouble yourselves over." The man had patted Anna's hand tolerantly, never noticing the quick eye-roll she gave him. Jake had caught it, however, and it had only served to bewilder him further. "I suspect Braxton Hicks contractions." Evidently mistaking the reason for Jake's confused look, the doctor had added, "False labor. Happens to a lot of women. It can be scary at first, but really, it's nothing."

The doctor had left, pulling the cubicle's curtain closed behind him. While Anna, straightening her clothes, climbed off the bed, Robin— grinning from ear to ear—had triumphantly revealed the gun to him, wrapped in her jacket. Jake had instantly recognized it as a military issue Beretta.

"What the―? Put that away!" Jake had glanced around furtively. The curtain was pulled tight, so at least nobody passing by outside could see the gun. "Better yet," he'd amended, "give it to me." To his relief, Robin had passed the weapon over without a word of protest. Jake had quickly checked that it wasn't loaded and that the safety was on, before shoving it into his belt at the small of his back. He'd let out a whoosh of air once it was securely hidden under his shirt, the metal uncomfortably cool and hard against his skin.

None of them had said anything else as they'd left the clinic and Jake had waited until they were well outside, away from any eavesdroppers, before letting loose with the questions burning on his tongue. "Will you two tell me what the hell's going on? Where'd you get the gun?" He'd shifted his gaze from one woman to the other.

"You should've seen it!" Robin had burst out, no longer able to contain the excitement that had been buzzing inside her ever since Jake first saw her slouched in the chair. "Anna was _awesome_!"

"Awesome at what?"

"I took theater classes in high school." Anna had shrugged modestly, a note of self-satisfied pride in her tone.

"Huh? What does that mean?" He'd given a confused shake of his head, still not entirely convinced there'd been nothing wrong with Anna.

Giggling, Robin had explained the ruse to him: how Anna had pretended to collapse in pain to distract a couple off-duty National Guard soldiers cleaning their guns in the shade of a tree. While the soldiers had both been busy dealing with Anna, Robin had snuck up behind the tree and snatched a handgun and extra clip of ammo that the soldiers had left behind.

"Have you two lost your minds?" Jake had snapped. "You could've gotten yourselves thrown out of the camp if they'd found you out." Jake's obvious fury had made Robin's grin slip at last, a sullen pout replacing it. "Or worse, gotten yourself killed!" He'd shuddered to think what the soldiers might've done if they'd caught Robin stealing the gun, or discovered Anna had been play-acting.

"But we didn't!" Robin's eyes had flashed with indignation as she'd met him stare for stare. "Sheesh." She'd thrown up her hands. "Do a guy a favor..."

"A _favor_?" Jake had fought to pitch his voice low. He hadn't want to shout where someone might hear them. "You―."

"Jake," Anna had broken in. "Robin, give us a minute?"

"But―."

"Please."

With the kind of exaggerated shoulder roll only a teenager can produce, and a final affronted glare in Jake's direction, Robin had stomped several feet away. She'd hunched her shoulders as she'd scowled back at them. Jake had glared at Anna. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry." Anna had put a contrite hand on his wrist. "I should've talked to you first. But," she'd smiled slightly, "I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I know you wanted a gun for protection."

Jake had filled his lungs with air, releasing the breath slowly. "I did." Evidently it had been a mistake to bemoan the loss of the Ruger to Ravenwood out loud. If he'd known Anna would risk herself to get them a gun, he'd have swallowed his irritation.

She'd stroked his arm soothingly. "I'm sorry I frightened you." She'd spoken softly, her tone remorseful, and it had been hard to stay angry at her. "That wasn't my intention." Her fingers had been warm on his skin. Jake had heaved a fresh sigh. He had no right to speak; it wasn't as if he'd never done anything wool-headed himself. And in truth, he _was_ glad to have a weapon. One gun and thirty rounds of ammo was a heck of a lot more than he'd imagined he'd be able bring with him.

"Just—don't do that again."

"Not a chance." Anna had snorted a laugh. "That doctor already thinks I'm a hysterical female. I wouldn't want him to think even worse."

Jake shook himself back to the present, realizing he was wasting time. Satisfied with both packs, he left them sitting on the mattress until Henry could pass them on at the north-east fence after midnight.

When he went outside, he found Anna talking quietly with Molly and Robin. Robin turned toward Jake, but she avoided meeting his eye.

Jake drew the girl to him in a farewell hug. "Are we good?" he asked in a whisper. He'd talked to her again after escorting Anna home from the clinic, explaining that he was thankful to have the gun but that he'd also had good reason to be angry for the risk they had taken. Reluctantly, she'd agreed with him.

"Please don't tell my mom," she'd pleaded, a promise Jake could easily make as he'd never had any intention of telling Helen. It wouldn't make any difference to the outcome, and Robin had already learned her lesson.

Now, Robin wiped her eyes, muttering a hoarse, "Yeah." She sucked in a shuddering breath. "I wish I could come too. I _hate_ this place."

Jake put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. "You stay with your mom and take care of her, alright?" They'd had this discussion before, after he'd asked Helen for a second time to come with them. Both times, Robin's mother had given him a shocked look, shivered fearfully, and firmly stated that she and her daughter would prefer to stay under the care and protection of FEMA. Seeing how afraid she was of the idea of leaving the camp, Jake hadn't pressed the point a third time. "And I trust you to take care of Molly and Henry for me," he added gently.

Robin swallowed, hard, and sniffling, straightened her shoulders. "I will." She bobbed her head vigorously. "You and Anna have a safe trip." She blinked away fresh tears. "Will you... will you let me know when you get home?"

"I'll try." Perhaps one day he could keep that promise, too, once the world was right again.

The rest of the goodbyes went quickly; nobody wanted to prolong the farewells or dwell on what might lie ahead for Jake and Anna—or for those staying behind. Jake also didn't want to risk raising suspicions by leaving the camp too late in the day, even if that meant they'd have to wait out of sight for many hours until it was time to meet Henry.

Molly hugged Jake to her, pulling his head down until she could whisper in his ear. "Thank you for looking out for Anna. I know you didn't have to―." She broke off, breathing deeply, the drawn-in breath tickling Jake's face. "She's gonna need you a bit longer, though, her and her baby. Be safe, both of you."

Flustered, Jake began, "I―."

"Go." Molly cut him off with a gentle push and a hitch in her voice. She sniffled. "Before I make a fool of myself."

Jake dipped his head, swallowing the rest of his words.

It wasn't until later, as they hunkered down in the same ditch Jake had used as a hiding place before, that the unspoken message in Molly's words caught up with him and, belatedly, his heart started thumping in his throat. He had no idea how Molly had found out, or how long she'd known, but he was convinced she'd gotten wise to the fact he and Anna weren't married and that the baby wasn't his. He chuckled ruefully: it didn't matter any longer. But he was thankful she'd kept the secret for as long as necessary.

Anna looked up from contemplating the grassy ditch wall. "What's so funny?"

Jake offered her a wry grin. "Nothing." He didn't want her to feel bad they'd been caught out in the falsehoods that must have been so painful for her. "Just glad we made it out."

Leaving the camp had proved as simple as walking out through the gate. The guard had given them an uninterested once-over while marking off their passes on his clipboard. Jake had tried to appear unconcerned, while inwardly holding his breath. There wasn't a lot of traffic in and out of the camp, although he'd heard of other people who'd left after the riot. He didn't think they'd be detained, but he wanted the guard to accept their passes as a sign they were planning to come back.

Anna had asked why they should bother to get passes in the first place. "They wouldn't want to keep us against our will, would they? We're not prisoners?" She'd sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. Jake had quickly explained they'd be less conspicuous leaving with only a small pack if the guards believed they'd be gone for just a couple days.

"Also," he added, "it'll take the camp administration a few days before listing us as gone. They won't put anyone else in our tent until then. With the passes, we can give Molly and Henry time to themselves."

It had been harder to find the right arguments to cajole Julie-Anne into giving Jake the passes in the first place. She'd given Jake a sharp, wary stare as he presented her with the application form. "Again?" she'd asked, brows lifting disbelievingly. "And for your wife, too?"

"What can I say?" Jake had shrugged, not sure what to tell her. "I'm a busy man."

"Right." Julie-Anne had made a rueful noise in the back of her throat, but she'd started to prepare their passes. "So, where do you plan to go?" she'd asked conversationally, as she scribbled the pass numbers onto their forms.

"Go?" Jake had echoed, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

She'd given him another sharp look. "Please, Jake, I'm not that stupid."

He'd offered a her a lopsided smile. "Kansas." He'd gestured vaguely to the north.

"Kansas?" Julie-Anne had started up straight, before glancing around and lowering her voice. "Jake, that's gotta be at least a seven hundred miles."

He'd grinned wryly. Like he didn't know. "I've got family there."

Her mouth had tightened. "You have a pregnant wife _here_. You honestly want to take her on that kind of journey?"

Again, Jake had rolled a shoulder. Inwardly, he'd flinched at the veiled accusation. It was a question he'd asked himself a hundred times, and each time he'd concluded the same thing. "It's not safe here. What happened the other day―."

"That was an unfortunate incident," she'd interrupted him. "It's not that safe out there, either."

"Probably not," Jake had admitted. "But you know as well as I do another riot or something like it is bound to happen again. It can't be that much worse on the outside."

Julie-Anne had cocked her head, not answering right away. "I'm not gonna change your mind, am I?" she'd eventually asked softly. "Could be you're right, that it's better to go."

Jake hadn't answered. There hadn't been anything he could say to her. She hadn't spoken further while she finished their passes, but she'd hesitated as she handed them over. "There's a camp up north, near Lubbock. You should go there, if you get in trouble." She grabbed a notepad and scribbled a few lines, before tearing off the page, folding it and slid it across the counter to Jake. "Give them that."

He'd rested his fingers over hers, the paper between them. "Thank you."

"I've heard I-35 is secure. There've been reports of road gangs elsewhere. Also," she'd lowered her voice even further, "if you tell anyone, I'll deny I said it, but stay away from Ravenwood if you see them. They may work for FEMA but―."

Jake had quirked his mouth up in a lopsided grin. "Don't worry. I've seen what they do. We'll stay clear."

"Be safe."

He'd dipped his head at her, thankful for her help, and her silence. "You too."

Next to him, Anna shifted on the hard ground, pulling Jake back to the present. He was startled to realize it was growing dark already.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Anna was folding up the map and stowing it in her jacket. To pass the time, they'd gone over their intended route as often as they could during the afternoon, until Jake was satisfied Anna could recite every turn and would be able to make it to Jericho on her own. Just in case something happened to him—.

He shook off the thought. "If everything goes smoothly: shortly after Thanksgiving." It was probably a far too optimistic estimate; he'd yet to make a long journey that went exactly as planned, and the uncertainty over what they'd find along the way was greater than usual. But Thanksgiving sounded more appealing than Christmas or the New Year, and he didn't want her to lose heart before they'd even set out.

"Thanksgiving'd be nice." The hint of sarcasm in her tone told him he hadn't fooled her for one second and he offered her an apologetic quirk of his mouth. She didn't call him out, though. Instead, she asked, "Does―Is your family big on Thanksgiving?"

"Sure." Happy to join her in the change of subject, Jake went on, "Like most people, I guess." His dad always enjoyed reminiscing on the deeper meaning of the holiday, though Jake had generally been more interested in his mom's habitual turkey and blueberry pie. "We always have a football game before dinner." He chuckled; he hadn't thought about Jericho like this in a long time. "It's a bit of a family tradition. How about―?"

As his brain caught up with his mouth, he snapped it shut with a clack. Idiot! Anna gave him a sad look and turned away to stare at the opposite slope of the ditch, teeth nibbling at her lower lip.

Jake mentally kicked himself. _How about yours?_ What a monumentally stupid question to ask.

To his surprise, Anna answered the unfinished question. "We used to watch the parade. And whenever my dad was home with Thanksgiving..." He remembered she'd said her father had served in the Navy. "...we'd watch some of the game." She fell silent after that, and he reached over to squeeze her shoulder in silent support.

"Anyway..." Jake cleared his throat. "We best take it one day at a time." Anna gave him a slight nod of agreement. Letting go of her arm, he suggested quietly, "It'll be hours before we can meet Henry. You should get some rest. I want to get underway as soon as we have our backpacks." It'd be hard going in the dark and they wouldn't be able to make much progress, but it would be wise not to linger near the camp any longer than they strictly had to.

Taking his advice, Anna drew her jacket tighter around herself to ward off the chill that was creeping up from the dirt now the sun had set. Jake held his arm out in invitation and she curled up against his side. While she dozed, he listened to the sounds of the night: critters scuttling around in the nearby bush; a bird cawing further off; the distant background noise of the nearby camp gradually growing quieter. Tipping his head back, he took in the starry sky, thinking about the journey ahead.

It'd be long and arduous, he knew, and it'd be especially hard on Anna. She was more than three months pregnant. While Jake was fuzzy on the exact timeline for a pregnancy, he did know that the baby would grow substantially in the next months. He absently stroked Anna's hair and she snuggled more closely against him in her sleep, instinctively seeking his body heat.

Was leaving really the best decision for her? Wouldn't it be wiser to stay in the camp, at least until he had a clearer picture of the situation beyond FEMA's fences? They still had time to reconsider: with the passes, they would be allowed to go back in without questions asked.

He pictured the dark-haired dead woman's body lying motionless in the dirt and remembered the stark terror that had taken his breath away when he'd thought she was Anna, and the sheer relief that had come over him upon discovering she was a stranger. He shook his head, careful not to wake Anna. _Stop second-guessing yourself_.

He turned his mind toward Jericho instead, imagining them arriving at the house on Washington Drive, walking up the steps of the porch. He fancied he could smell his mom's cooking, and see his dad sitting in his favorite armchair near the fire, reading the paper. Okay, Jake grinned wryly, probably not reading a paper. The _Jericho Dispatch_ would've gone out of business with the rest of the media after the EMP had fried their computers and printers.

He tried not to think about the way he'd left, five years ago, or to linger on the angry words he and Dad had exchanged. Dad wouldn't turn him away, would he? Not now, not this time. 'Cause if he did, Jake wouldn't have a clue where else to go.

With a start, he came awake. He'd been dozing, dreaming of home. What time was it? Gently extricating himself from Anna, he got up and peered over the edge of the ditch at the camp. The floodlights were out, so Henry would be expecting them soon.

Leaning down, he lightly shook Anna by the shoulder. "Hey." She blinked up at him groggily, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. Jake grinned, amused. "C'mon, time to go."

Giving Anna a hand, Jake helped her clamber out of the ditch. He scanned left and right to confirm they wouldn't accidentally stumble into a patrol, before crossing to the fence. Henry was already waiting for them, a darker shadow among the shadows. "Thought you'd never show," he grumbled as they approached.

"Sorry. We fell asleep," Jake explained sheepishly.

Henry snorted a muffled laugh, before he lifted first one rucksack and then the second over the top of the fence. Jake caught them and set them at his feet. "Thanks."

There was a last round of "Be careful" and "Take care" and then Henry melted away among the trees. Jake helped Anna settle into her pack, before hoisting his own onto his shoulders, shrugging until it rested comfortably on his back.

"So..." he muttered.

Anna gave a nervous laugh. "This is it, huh?"

He grinned at her. "Yep." He reached for her hand. Her fingers were trembling, and he gave them a light squeeze as he guided her off into the darkness. The sleeping camp quickly fell away behind them.

o0o


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Fate smiled on Jake and Anna—or perhaps Molly's prayers for nice weather had paid off—during the first week and a half of their journey north. Though the nights were noticeably colder than a month ago, the sleeping bags they'd smuggled from the camp warded off the chill. None of the fall storms from the Gulf blew up into Texas, nor did any low pressure fronts move in from the north, leaving the days dry and sunny. Some afternoons, it almost grew too hot for comfortable walking and at times the trip was even enjoyable. Jake even began to cautiously think that aiming for a Thanksgiving arrival might not be that far off the mark after all.

They avoided contact with others as much as possible. It wasn't difficult: Texas wasn't a crowded state at the best of times and they quickly confirmed Jake hadn't imagined the desolation during his food run to the organic farm. Would seem the rumors, which had been flying around camp shortly before they left, were true: at the governor's urging, people were gathering in towns and cities, abandoning their remote ranches and farms to the elements. Concentrated in settlements, it'd be easier for the government to offer protection and safety. And those who'd remained behind and refused to leave their homes or their livestock proved to be a suspicious lot, as wary of strangers as Jake and Anna were of them. More than once, Jake sensed distrustful eyes following them, along with the kind of prickle in his neck that told him shotguns were being aimed in his direction. They never saw anyone when that happened though, and the feeling of being watched lessened slowly as they hiked on and the farmstead they were passing fell behind.

Six days into their journey, they heard a car. The low, deep grumble of a diesel engine was no longer as familiar as it had once been. Instead, it was an out-of-place and threatening interruption of the quiet.

"Jake?" Anna asked, half in question, half warning.

"I hear it."

"What do we do?" She'd stopped walking and cocked her head to hear better. The car―or cars, Jake wasn't sure yet―was approaching fast, coming up from behind, where the low rise they'd just crossed hid it from view. Up ahead, the dirt road stretched out, flat and straight and featureless.

Jake hesitated for only a heartbeat. "We hide." Better safe than sorry; the only people driving cars were either soldiers rounding up stragglers or gangs scouring the countryside for loot. They could expect scant sympathy from either.

"Where?" Anna asked. Jake quickly looked around, taking stock of their surroundings. The land was bare, offering few options. There was a cluster of bushes further up ahead. A quick glance told Jake it was too far; the car would be on them before they could reach it. As it got closer, he decided from the noise that it was a single truck and, judging by the change into a higher pitch, it had started up the incline. Time was running out.

"Into the field." He pointed, grabbing Anna by the arm. She was already moving. The coarse, yellowed grass formed knee-high patches and, with luck, would hide them from casual view. Several yards into the field, they stopped and he helped Anna slip out of her backpack before throwing off his own.

"Jake, hurry." Anna had already lain down flat on her stomach, pressed into the dirt. Jake took a second to check the packs were well shielded behind a clump of grass, and dropped next to her.

Not a moment too soon, either. He barely had time to grab the gun out of the belt at his back, before the truck came over the ridge and started down the shallow slope toward them. Catching a glimpse, Jake recognized it as a deuce-and-a-half flatbed in a dark color.

"Who are they?" Anna kept her voice to a whisper, despite there being no risk the people in the car would hear her over the engine noise.

"Don't know." The engine could do with a tune up, so they most likely weren't military, but he couldn't be sure who they were otherwise. Not without lifting his head, something he wasn't gonna chance for the sole purpose of satisfying his curiosity.

The truck slowed right across from their position. They both tensed. Metal grated on metal and Jake winced involuntarily as the driver inexpertly switched gears. Then the truck sped up. Jake expelled the air from his lungs with a whoosh and forced himself to relax his grip on the gun, which he'd instinctively tightened as the truck slowed.

They waited until the engine's noise had faded completely before daring to get to their feet. Anna slapped at her knees to brush the dirt off, before straightening to allow Jake to help her back into her rucksack. "Thanks," she muttered, tightening the shoulder straps with trembling fingers. Wordlessly, Jake squeezed her shoulder for an instant, ducking to grab his own pack.

From then on, they heard an engine every two or three days. Making sure to get well off the road every time, they never did see any of the actual cars and the noise never got closer than a rumble in the distance. The most pressing issue each day continued to be finding sufficient food to sustain them. The area they were traveling through consisted largely of patches of cultivated farmland in between rough pasture, allowing them to forage from the abandoned fields as they went. Nevertheless, their supplies quickly dwindled, and they were increasingly forced to spend precious time replenishing them. Yet, Jake reminded himself on the evening of the tenth day, marking their daily progress on the map and grumbling every time it turned out to be less than he'd hoped, if they didn't eat, they'd never make it to Jericho at all.

One cool, sunny morning, not quite two weeks since they'd left Camp Austin, they were busy breaking camp and readying themselves for the day. They'd spent the night in an overgrown meadow not far from a dilapidated shed Jake had spotted around sunset. He'd hoped it would provide a place to sleep but Anna had taken one peek inside the shed, observed the cobwebbed, dust-coated interior, and declared she'd rather sleep out under the open sky. Truth be told, as long as it didn't rain―and rain hadn't been likely, the way the stars had popped out in the clear sky―Jake was inclined to agree with her. So they'd zipped their government-issue sleeping bags together, found a flat spot where the long grass would provide a thin, prickly cushion, and huddled for warmth as they slept.

They were slowly developing another daily routine: Anna cleaned their stuff after breakfast―usually a piece of fruit and a spoonful of left-over broth from last night's supper―and Jake took care of the sleeping bags and backpacks. He was zipping the bags apart and shaking them out to get rid of the grass and dirt when a soft gasp and a quiet "Oh!" made him look up. Anna had stilled in washing up the dishes, one hand splayed on her stomach, the knife she'd been cleaning forgotten in the other. Jake couldn't make out what he saw in her face as she goggled back at him. Surprise? Shock?

Dread slithered through him. "Are you okay?" He struggled to keep the fear from showing in his voice. If there was something wrong with the baby...

Anna's reply was breathless. "It moved..." The smile that accompanied her words dimpled her cheeks and Jake's fear subsided a little. "The baby," she went on. "It moved." She hunched her shoulders shyly. "I mean, I thought I've felt it before, but now I'm sure—there it is again!" She dropped the knife, letting it fall among the rest of the items they hadn't yet packed away and scurried over to Jake. Reaching out, she grabbed his wrist. "Feel that?" Before Jake knew what she was doing, she'd pressed his palm flat to her lower belly.

He concentrated, but he felt nothing beyond her body heat seeping through her shirt, hot against his palm. "Sorry, no..."

Her smile faltered and disappointment replaced it. "I suppose it's too weak for you to make out." She let go of his hand. "Anyway, it's stopped."

"There'll be other times." Jake didn't know if he was trying to console her or himself, that he hadn't been able to share this with her.

"Yes," she agreed in a voice still full of wonder, and Jake couldn't but help smile.

He went on looking at her as she turned away and started gathering up their gear again, relieved by the confirmation that she and the baby were apparently doing fine. The baby was what worried him the most about taking Anna on a months-long journey, far away from any doctors or medical support. At least, at the refugee camp, they'd had the clinic nearby. He still couldn't help asking, "How are you doing?"

It took her an instant to catch his deeper meaning. "Okay, I guess." Busying herself with cramming things back into her pack, she added, "The nausea's mostly gone."

Jake hadn't dared comment on her seeming to do better as far as her morning sickness went. He'd been too afraid to draw her attention to it.

"Molly gave me ginger root to help with the symptoms," Anna added, "but I think I'm outgrowing it, too." She glanced up again, bashfully. "Helen told me the second trimester should be the easiest, so you picked a good time for our road trip." The smile as she said it didn't quite mask the worry in her eyes. If he were concerned about the lack of available medical care, he reckoned Anna must be absolutely terrified―and yet, she'd trusted him enough to go with him. The sudden sense of responsibility that washed over him made his chest constrict. Jake swallowed and consciously forced himself to take in a lungful of air as he tightened the strap on the sleeping bag he'd rolled up with more force than strictly necessary.

"And we're making excellent time," he reminded her, perhaps as much to encouraged himself as her. They'd not make it to Jericho by Thanksgiving now, but celebrating Christmas at his parents' house was still a definite possibility.

She let out an amused little snort at that, but her brow crinkled with doubt.

Jake saw the frown. "What is it?"

Anna worried at her bottom lip. "I'm running low on the vitamin supplements," she admitted. "The clinic gave me enough to tide me over until my next monthly check-up. Which, you know..." She huffed a small laugh, gesturing at the yellowed grass around them.

Jake hmmed unhappily at the news. While they weren't in danger of starving, their diet was pretty lacking in variety, and he'd counted on the supplements to keep her and the baby in good health until they could ask April for help. "How many have you got left?"

Anna dug up the bottle of pills and considered the contents. "Two weeks' worth."

"Okay." He tried not to show his dismay. Even if they could maintain their current pace, they wouldn't even have crossed into Oklahoma in two weeks, let alone they'd be anywhere near Jericho. "We'll find some more." There had to be a way. If necessary, they could try going into a town. They'd simply have to approach it with care.

o0o

The following afternoon, the weather took a turn for the worse. For the next week, they plodded on under fat, low-hanging clouds that delivered heavy showers, lashing at them and turning the road underfoot into slippery mud. The flimsy rain capes―originally meant for a single emergency use―that they'd pilfered from the abandoned gas station weeks earlier weren't enough to keep them dry. But they trudged on, neither of them willing to stop and wait for better weather.

As they slogged on through yet another pounding shower, Jake spotted a road sign at a crossroads. He tilted his head up to read it; road signs helped to make certain they hadn't accidentally veered from the right track. Wiping the water from his eyes, he snorted. Anna glanced at him, pushing the wet strands of hair that had escaped the plastic hood of her cap back from her face. From her expression, she clearly had no idea what Jake was finding so amusing during the miserable downpour.

"Wanna say hello to Sheriff Kobler?" he asked.

"Who?" Anna's expression went from faintly curious to confused.

"The sheriff in Vernon." Jake flicked a hand at the sign. Its right arm pointed east; they were fifty miles out from the town. "We're nearly back where we started."

"Oh..." Anna peered at the sign and smiled uncertainly. "Um, you want...?" She spoke hesitantly, evidently wondering if the rain had rusted his brain.

Jake grimaced wryly, embarrassed. "No, I don't." He barked a bitter laugh. Vernon, Texas, was the last place on Earth he wanted to go to. Even if the town had been on the route to Jericho, he'd have taken a wide detour to avoid going near there. The sheriff had been hard pressed to keep his town under control even immediately after the attacks; Jake didn't want to picture the situation there two months and little government aid later. "Sorry. That was a lame joke."

"Okay..." Anna didn't even award him a ghost of a smile as she trudged on.

Jake followed, trying not to slip in the treacherous mud underfoot. He snuck a peek up at the clouds. The sky to the west seemed to be lightening up and he hoped it wasn't an illusion. Cause he was getting sick of this weather―_literally_, he shivered.

He jogged a few paces to catch up with Anna. "Let's find a place to wait out this storm and dry ourselves out," he suggested.

"You sure?"

"Positive." Much as they both wanted to get to Jericho as quickly as possible, finding shelter would be the wiser choice at this point. A barn, or a garage. A place they could make a fire, at least. Everything they carried was wet or damp; the waterlogged backpack felt twice as heavy on his shoulders; and he could swear mold was starting to grow between his toes.

It took them four miles and the best part of the afternoon before they came across what Jake had been hoping for: a small ranch house, neat and well-maintained, with a fresh coat of paint on the siding. It had clearly been abandoned for some time: Mother Nature was busy reclaiming the grounds, with weeds shooting up at the edges of the asphalted driveway and wind-blown sand collecting in small dunes against the walls. A layer of dust caked the windows.

As they entered the yard, Jake peered around. Aside from the house, the place consisted of a single small barn with a tiny orchard behind it. It hadn't been a working farm, he reckoned; more like his Grandpa's ranch in Jericho.

The pang of longing that went through him at the memory took Jake's breath away for a second.

"Jake?" Tilting toward her voice, Jake saw Anna was already halfway to the barn, waiting for him to follow. He took a step in her direction and then hesitated, a new idea taking hold. His gaze shifted to the house and back to Anna. She was shivering visibly, her wet hair plastered to her face. Dark patches showed where the rain had soaked into her jeans. No, the barn wouldn't be enough.

"Come on." He flapped a hand for her to come with him and strode in the direction of the house.

"What are you―?" She joined him on the porch, out of the rain. "Oh, Jake!" She gasped in alarm as Jake tilted over one of the heavy flower pots flanking the door, the plants in it wilted and dry, and let out a small cry of triumph. As he'd hoped, a key was hidden there. He quickly snatched it up and set the pot back in place.

"Jake! We can't do this!" Anna grabbed his sleeve, holding him back from inserting the key into the lock. "That's... that's breaking and entering!"

"No breaking involved." Jake chuckled sourly and shook the key at her. But Anna did have a point: he didn't want to think about what he would've done if the key hadn't been there. Then again, would his grandfather have objected if people in their situation had broken into his ranch after he'd died?

No, he wouldn't have. Jake was sure of it. Grandpa would've been okay with it, and he'd have hoped whoever it was in need of shelter would also discover the stash of scotch he'd always kept hidden from Jake's mom behind the big saucepan in the kitchen cabinet.

"You know what I mean." Red splotches showed in Anna's cheeks.

"Yes, I do." Jake sighed, and, pocketing the key, took her hands in his. They were icy cold to the touch. "Listen, we're both freezing. If we don't dry out, we'll get sick. Catch pneumonia." He didn't mention the baby; she was far more aware of her condition and what it meant than he could ever be. "We'll be careful, okay? We won't break anything. But we need a fire. I don't want to start one in the barn; we'd risk burning the entire building down." Barns, in Jake's experience, were always full of dust and straw and hay and other easily combustible things.

"Jake, this is somebody's _house_." Tears glistened in her eyes.

"I'm aware of that." It wasn't the first time they'd had to break in to shelter from bad weather. But it was the first time it wasn't a shed or an office or a store. Yet it couldn't be helped. "This is the best thing, trust me."

Anna bit her lip and, several heartbeats later, nodded.

Jake found the key again and unlocked the door. It opened straight into a tidy living room that smelled faintly of dust after two months of being abandoned. He raised a foot to step over the threshold, but Anna hauled him back by the strap of his backpack.

She jabbed a hand toward his feet. "Boots."

Jake grimaced. "Good point." Their boots were splattered with mud up to their ankles, and the soles were caked with dirt. He knelt awkwardly to loosen the laces, before kicking off the boots. Leaving them on the porch, he walked on inside in just his socks.

Under the gray skies and with dusk approaching, it was gloomy in the house and chilly from lack of occupation. Jake could make out a comfortable sofa, two easy chairs and a coffee table. A bookcase holding family photos stood against one of the walls. He averted his eyes. The pictures made him feel more keenly like an intruder than taking the key or actually walking inside had done.

He looked across his shoulder; Anna was hovering uncertainly on the doorstep. "Come on," he urged as he shook his rucksack off and planted it next to the sofa.

Taking another look around, Jake saw a small pile of firewood lay stockpiled beside the hearth. He smiled in satisfaction: as he'd hoped, there was a working fireplace. Kneeling in front of it, he quickly stacked the logs together and added kindling, before glancing around for matches―the damp had gotten into theirs, but there had to be―_Ah_. He discovered the box on the ledge above the hearth. Striking a match, he held the flame to the dry kindling. It took a minute, but after that he soon had a blazing fire going.

Anna had resigned herself to his actions and followed him inside and shut the door. Still shivering, she walked up to the fire, instinct conquering her misgivings. "Here, gimme that." Jake got to his feet and held on to the straps of her pack as she pulled her arms free. She quickly circled them around herself, hugging herself tight. "Please, sit," Jake suggested, but she stubbornly remained standing.

Sighing quietly, Jake left her to her own devices and went to explore the rest of the house. The fire was a good start, but they had to get out of their wet clothes and they'd need to find something else to wear while everything dried. Their spare clothes wouldn't do; they were as wet as the things they had on. Not even the plastic they'd wrapped everything in had succeeded in keeping the rain out.

Upstairs, he found further signs of the owners' hasty departure: drawers hanging half-open, closets emptied out with forgotten clothes dangling crookedly from their hangers. He discovered a number of blankets in one of the closets, and an oversized, brand-new track suit in a back room. His arms full, he went back downstairs.

Anna hadn't moved from where he'd left her in front of the fire. She was holding out her hands toward the flames and no longer huddled in on herself so guiltily. Jake considered it an improvement.

"Let's get you out of your clothes," he suggested, dumping the blankets onto the couch.

"What?" She gave him a bewildered look.

"Sorry. That sounded―." A rush of embarrassed heat that had nothing to do with the roaring fire washed over Jake. "I meant, you're soaked through. I found you something to wear." He showed her the track suit. "It's on large side, but it's dry and warm."

"I can't wear that!" Anna exclaimed. "It's... Those're someone else's clothes!" The suggestion she put on the track suit was clearly a far graver offense than Jake's unintended indecent proposal.

Jake sucked in a deep breath, tamping down on his temper. He was trying, dammit! And, he reminded himself, she wasn't upset with him so much as the situation. This wasn't easy on her. "Will you at least accept a blanket?" he asked, trying to keep his words as gentle as possible He didn't want to argue with her; she was close to bursting into tears, and he hated to see her cry.

A fresh shiver ran through her frame, and finally she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I guess..."

Her hands were cold and her stiff fingers struggled clumsily with the buttons of her shirt. Slinging a blanket over his shoulder, Jake went to help her. They'd grown familiar with each other over the course of the past months, having quickly discovered that modesty was more trouble that it was worth, and stripping to their underwear in the other's presence no longer bothered either of them.

He pulled the damp shirt down along her arms, tugging at as it clung to her skin. Unintentionally he glanced down and―his hands froze and he couldn't help but stare. There was―. He hadn't looked at her closely when she'd been this naked for the last two weeks and last time he had looked, she hadn't been showing an unmistakable bump of the baby growing.

"What?―Jake!" Anna twisted away from him, leaving him standing there stupidly with her damp shirt in his hands. She snatched the blanket from his shoulder, quickly tucking it around herself. "Sheesh!"

"Sorry. I didn't mean―I was―." Jake's cheeks burned. Draping the soggy shirt over the arm of the nearby chair, he busied himself poking at the fire to hide how flustered he was.

"I know. I'm getting fat." Anna dropped into the chair. "That was still plain rude."

Surprisingly, she didn't sound as angry as her words would suggest. Jake darted her a sideways glance. She'd curled up her legs, wrapping herself from top to toe in the blanket, distracted enough that she was no longer upset that she was in someone else's home uninvited.

"I know, sorry. But you're not―. I've never seen a pregnant woman before. I mean, I have, of course, but not like you and―." Jake clamped his mouth shut, aware he was stammering but still reeling. He shouldn't have been so shocked, but understanding on an intellectual level was a different thing from seeing the evidence up close and personal. Even the grainy ultrasound he'd seen after they first arrived in the refugee camp hadn't brought it home this hard.

"Shut up, Jake." Anna snorted, and this time there was distinct amusement in her voice. "You're only digging yourself in deeper."

He sighed and gave a low laugh. "I know."

He poked at the fire one last time for good measure, and proceeded to worm out of his own clothes. Unpacking their gear, he draped everything carefully around the living room so it could dry out.

They spent the night in front of the fire. Despite the heat of the flames, Anna still snuggled up to Jake in her sleep. Waiting to fall asleep, he went over the afternoon's events in his mind, quietly laughing at his own dismay. What had he expected? There was a baby growing inside her―Freddy's baby.

The thought sobered him. What sort of life could this child expect? Its father dead, its mother homeless and alone... Involuntarily, he tugged her closer to him, pulling the blanket up higher. As he fell asleep, he swore to himself he'd do his damnedest to give her child as best a chance at a good life as he could.

o0o

In the morning, the rain had stopped and there were breaks in the clouds. Their clothes and other things had dried overnight, and Jake was feeling optimistic about continuing on. Working quickly, they refolded everything carefully and crammed it all back in their packs, before setting the house to rights. They'd agreed to try and leave it as they found it best they could.

Once they were done and ready to hit the road, Anna took the backpacks outside onto the porch and put her boots back on, while Jake finished with a final inspection of the place. Sliding a last glance around the living room before pulling the door to, he bobbed his head in satisfaction: other than the ashes in the hearth, the owners would never have known they'd been there.

His gaze fell on the coffee table and his mouth curled up into a wry smile. The folded sheet of notepad paper sitting there put the lie to his words: the thank-you note Anna had insisted they leave. Chances were, the original residents would never find it, depending on where they'd been taken during the evacuations. Nevertheless, he'd seen how important it had been to Anna to write it, so he'd happily helped her locate pen and a notepad, and even signed his name next to hers, his chicken scrawl clearly a different hand to her round feminine script.

Shutting the door behind him, he locked it with care, and put the key back under the flower pot. He laced up his boots and hefted his backpack. "Ready to go?"

o0o

Thanksgiving Day broke unseasonably warm, with the sun quickly burning off the frozen crystals that had gathered on the surface of their sleeping bags during the night. Though they'd made good progress each day, they'd barely reached the southern part of the Texas panhandle and it was discouraging to think about how far they still had to go.

Mid-afternoon, they came upon a small lake, its blue, still water sparkling in the sunlight. Wiping an arm across his sweaty face, Jake squinted longingly at the surface. It looked invitingly cool after hauling a heavy backpack under the hot sun for hours. Letting his gaze travel along the shoreline, he spotted a grassy field, protected by willow trees, sloping down to the water, sunlight dappling the ground through the canopy. The sight cinched it for him. "I vote we camp here."

It was on the early side for them to stop, but they'd been pushing hard for the past couple of days. Anna had to be tired, and this looked like as good a place to spend the night as they'd ever find. Besides, today _was_ a holiday, even if they had no means to celebrate it―but, Jake amended, glancing at Anna, they had plenty to be thankful for, all things considered.

Without objection, Anna slogged after him as he headed toward the clearing. In the shade of the trees, he dropped his pack and helped her set down her own.

She straightened, knuckling her back with a weary sigh, which made her bangs flutter. "See if we can wash out our clothes?" she asked, scanning the lake and surrounding area with a critical eye. "If we hang them over those branches, they should be dry by tomorrow."

"Sure." It had been days since they last laundered anything and at the mere reminder, Jake wanted to scratch under his shirt. He resisted the urge, thinking that they probably both stank, too. Luckily, he'd discovered, you quickly became inured to funky smells. Putting action words, Jake dug through his backpack, while Anna sorted out her own clothes.

Arms filled with an odd assortment of shirts and shorts and pants, Jake walked over to the water's edge. The lake bank turned out to be higher than he'd realized. Dropping the dirty clothes in a heap, he knelt, the first shirt clutched in his fists, and awkwardly tried to lean over far enough he could dip the shirt in the water, but not so far he'd fall in.

_Oh, what the hell_. Putting the shirt back with the rest, Jake stood up so he could kick off his shoes and socks and strip out of his jeans. If their clothes could do with a good wash, so could he.

Mud squelched between his toes as he waded into the pool. The water was cool, but not as cold as he'd expected, and the sun warmed his back through his shirt.

He resumed his work with the laundry. It didn't take long; lacking detergent all he could do was plunge and rinse everything, and squeeze the excess water out, leaving the rest for the sun to dry. Wringing out the final garment he saw Anna had sat down near the water's edge. She was squinting into the glare of the sun's reflection on the lake's surface while she watched him. There was amusement in her face, and something else that Jake couldn't decipher that made his stomach tighten involuntarily.

"What?"

"Nothing." The smile broke through fully and dimpled her cheeks. "It's―." She shrugged, biting her lip.

Conscious she was laughing at him but trying not to, Jake waded closer to the shore. Holding the last garment he'd washed―a pair of his own shorts― in one hand, he used the other to scoop up a handful of water to splash up at her.

"Jake!" Anna squeaked in shock, not having expected it. She threw up her arms to protect herself and, laughing, sprang up and took a step back to get out of range of any more spray.

Jake reached the shore and folded the shorts on top of the rest of the wet and moderately clean clothes. Anna lifted the dripping bundle off the ground. "Lemme hang those." She scurried toward a cluster of low bushes at the far side of the clearing, where the sun would be shining for another hour or so.

Jake watched her walk off. She still moved with the easy sway of her hips she'd learned navigating tables and rowdy drunks, and her tan had deepened from spending hours in the outdoors. But she'd definitely lost weight since San Diego. So had he, for that matter. How could they not, with their meager diet of fruit and vegetables?

He puffed out a breath, brushing his too-long hair from his eyes, shoving the concern away. There wasn't anything he could do about their food situation that he wasn't already doing.

Planting one foot on the bank, he paused before climbing the rest of the way out. Doing the laundry had been hot work, and the water was smooth and cool.

Changing his mind about getting out, he dragged his T-shirt up over his head, chucked it onto the shore with his shoes and jeans, and dived back into the lake. As the water closed over him, he gasped in shock: it had seemed warm enough for a swim while he'd been exerting himself, but under water and further out, it proved colder than in the shallows near the shore. Spluttering and gasping, he broke the surface. Turning himself parallel to the shore, he started swimming up and down with long, powerful strokes to warm himself up. By the time his skin had pebbled with cold, he reckoned he was plenty clean. And Anna might enjoy a splash in the lake, too.

Circling around, he aimed for the edge of the lake. A faint noise made him freeze up in mid-stroke. Was that—? He couldn't be sure over the splash of water. Then he heard it again: a horse snorting, not far off.

Abruptly, the friendly, sunlit clearing didn't feel half as safe as it had. Jake pushed for the shore as fast as he could and scrabbled to find his footing in the soft mud. "Anna, get the gun," he hissed quietly, as soon as he was close enough that he reckoned she could hear him. Even as he spoke, he saw she was already holding the Beretta ; she must have also recognized the horse's snort.

He tried to scramble out of the water as quickly as he could. It wasn't easy; the embankment was steep and slippery, and the mud gave way beneath his toes and fingers. Feeling himself slip back, he blindly grabbed for the nearest handhold, a branch sticking out sideways from a fallen tree trunk, and tried to use it to help him pull himself out of the water. The rotting trunk creaked and rolled over, nearly dumping him back into the lake. Something hissed angrily an arms' length away as Jake fought to regain his balance.

"Stay still," a man's voice commanded, harsh and urgent.

Jake froze, out of instinct more than on account of the order he'd just been given, as his worst fears were confirmed. The part of him that had been holding out hope the horse was a free-roaming beast withered with self-recrimination. How could he have been so dumb as to let them be snuck up on unawares?

He tilted his head in an attempt to take stock of the threat. The shadow of a tall horse fell across him, its rider silhouetted against the sun. Jake couldn't make out the man's face, but he could see the guy had broad shoulders and was wearing a cowboy hat. The man reached behind him for the shotgun slotted into a rifle holster, and Jake stiffened further—.

"Mister, don't move." Anna sounded firm, in spite of a slight quaver in her voice. She approached slowly across the clearing, keeping the Beretta trained on the rider.

The horseman, to Jake's surprise, chuckled. The gun being aimed at him didn't appear to bother him in the least. "Ma'am, you're pointin' that thing at the wrong critter."

"What?" Now Anna sounded puzzled.

Instead of a reply, the rider gave a slight head tilt in Jake's direction. Jake heard the hissing noise a second time and he forced himself to shift his focus away from the stranger to find out the source of the noise. That―. His breath stuck in his throat as he saw the snake. It had to be several feet long, even coiled up. It had been dozing in the cool shade of the tree trunk and he'd disturbed its slumber during his mad scramble to get out of the lake. The snake was now flattened and poised to strike at the smallest threat. Jake fought the reflexive urge to recoil. If the snake went for him, it wouldn't miss. And the pair of soaked, skimpy boxers clinging to his hips would offer no protection against its sharp fangs. He risked another look at the stranger, mindful of the need not to move. The man sat watching Jake calmly, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, but loose and relaxed.

Jake decided to take a chance. "Anna, it's okay." He struggled to keep the panic out of his voice.

After an uncertain glance in Jake's direction, Anna lowered the Beretta. The click as she put the safety back on was loud in the still, warm air of the afternoon. As soon as she'd secured the gun, the rider took his shotgun from its holster and slid from the saddle, moving slowly but smoothly. Twisting the gun around until he held it by the muzzle, he jabbed the butt at the snake. Distracted by this sudden new threat, the snake swung its head away from Jake, and struck. Jake sucked in an involuntary gasp as the snake's teeth grazed the rifle's stock, once, twice, before it jerked away, hissing, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth. The horseman poked the gun at the snake again and it gave up. With a last, angry hiss, it slithered off through the grass. A small splash suggested it had dropped into the lake to hide among the reeds.

Shoving the rifle back into its holster, the rider held out a gnarled hand to help Jake conquer the remaining couple of feet onto the muddy shore. As Jake regained the bank, he got his first good look at his rescuer. The man was perhaps in his late fifties, with the deep tan and crinkled eyes of an outdoorsman. "Thanks." Jake dipped his head in gratitude and, shivering despite the sun, looked around for his shirt.

"Welcome." The man chuckled. "Now, son, no need to be so pale. That was nothin' but a teensy water snake. Harmless beast, mostly, but its bite can hurt like hell and bleed worse than any tiny cut has any right to."

Jake let out a heavy sigh. Coming face to face with the snake had scared the crap out of him, and learning it hadn't been venomous didn't make him feel much better. Nor did the fact he sensed no immediate threat from the stranger. He still felt horribly vulnerable: unarmed, half-naked and shivering as cold lake water dripped from him.

Anna, giving the horseman a wide berth, joined him, holding out his shirt and jeans. Jake accepted them gratefully and scooted back into them as quickly as he could. It was clumsy going, the material sticking to his wet skin, but at last he was dressed. He took the Beretta from Anna.

From the faint, unconcerned smile the rider shot him, the handover hadn't gone unnoticed, but the man didn't comment on it, simply stuck his hand out to Jake a second time. "Jackson Welch. And this is my land."

"Jake." Jake shook the proffered hand uncertainly. "This is Anna. And sorry. We'll go soon as―."

Welch laughed. "No problem. As long as you don't spook the cattle or mess up the fences or set fire to the grass, it's alright. Where's you folks headed?"

"North." Welch sounded friendly enough, but caution had become ingrained in Jake and he wasn't willing to give further details.

"North, eh?" Welch pulled down his brows. "Most folk I see are heading south. Gonna be damned cold up there soon, without electric."

Welch wasn't wrong. "I got family there." Again, Jake didn't offer specifics. Behind him, Anna hovered close, clearly as uncertain what to make of Welch as Jake was. They'd both seen and heard too much to trust the man's easy demeanor quickly―even if he had saved Jake from a potential snake bite.

"Ah. Family's important. 'Specially these days." Welch pushed his hat to the back of his head and scratched his skull. "Got a couple sons over in Arizona. First time ever those boys ain't made it home for Thanksgiving." He sounded sad. Settling his hat back in place, he swung up into the saddle. He peered down at Jake and Anna, considering them for a minute. "Tell ya what. I shot me a turkey the other day―," he patted the well-worn stock of his gun with a grin, "―and you folks look like you could do with a decent meal. Why don't you come on over to the house?"

"Um―."

As if he could tell what Jake was thinking, Welch reached for the reins and added, "Up to you, of course, but the wife'd be pleased to have someone beside me and my big mouth to feed over Thanksgivin'."

Jake weighed the options, while Welch waited patiently for an answer. He thought he could trust the man, but the caution he'd learned over the past two months, for everyone and everything, was hard to ignore. On the other hand, he'd love a real, hot meal eaten at a real table. And maybe Welch and his wife could tell them what to expect further north. It'd be nice to have fresh intel instead of working mostly blind. And who knows, maybe the Welches could even shed light on those four or five presidents Jake had been reading about on the camp bulletin board.

He sought Anna's gaze for her input but found no guidance there: she gave him an undecided little shrug. He shoved the Beretta into his waist band, taking comfort in its weight. They weren't completely defenseless. "Alright," he conceded, taking Welch up on his offer. "Thanks."

"Wonderful!" Welch exclaimed happily. "I'll go ahead 'n tell the wife we got company comin'." He wheeled his horse around. "The house's 'bout a mile to the north. Follow the lake shore until you get to a dirt track goin' off to the left. You'll see the house from there." He waited for Jake to nod his understanding before spurring his horse into the undergrowth between the trees. An instant before the branches closed behind him, he shot across his shoulder, "And be careful of them water snakes." His laughter followed him into the bushes.

o0o


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The turkey was huge.

Watching Madge Welch adjust the roasting pan on the table, Jake admitted to himself that it was probably only of average size. But it had been so many years since he'd last enjoyed a home-cooked meal for Thanksgiving that he'd forgotten what it was like.

He let his gaze wander over the rest of the feast set out on the dinner table. Aside from the turkey, which was a crisp gleaming brown on the outside, Madge had made glazed carrots, potato mash, cranberry sauce, and―as divulged by Welch in a stage whisper as he pulled out a chair for Anna―pumpkin pie for dessert. Everything a traditional American holiday dinner required. Jake's mouth watered and his stomach gurgled involuntarily at the sight of all that food.

Just as Welch had promised, his wife had welcomed Jake and Anna warmly as they'd walked up, declaring she must've had a premonition they'd be coming, because she said she'd prepared far more than "me and Jackson could ever eat without burstin'". She'd dabbed at her eyes then. Recalling her husband had mentioned two sons stuck in Arizona, Jake's throat had clogged up as he'd thanked her. Was that how his mom had felt when he'd first left Jericho?

A timer had dinged in the kitchen, breaking the awkward moment. Madge had scurried off, exclaiming the oven called for her and suggesting Jake and Anna freshen up at the well while they waited for the meal to be done cooking. She'd also offered the use of her clothes lines to hang up the damp garments Jake had laundered in the lake. It was strung across the yard beside the house, which was a two-story T-shaped building painted a creamy white that glowed under the sun. Around it, a number of outbuildings had been erected, and some pale cows grazed in a fenced-off field behind it, briefly lifting their heads to check Jake out as he hung the washing.

Welch's deep voice brought Jake back to the present. "Thank you, Lord, for the food we're about to receive..."

The smells of the dishes tantalized Jake to the point of rudely wanting to grab the nearest bowl, courtesy be damned. But he resisted the impulse and waited for Welch to finish praying. The farmer expressed their thankfulness for the food and for keeping them all safe, and asked that God watch out for their friends and loved ones. He included Jake and Anna in his entreaty. Although Jake didn't put much stock in God, considering the horrors he'd witnessed in his years away from Jericho―and even less so following the nuclear attacks―he was touched by the old farmer's words. He snuck a glance at Anna, sitting across from him. Her head was bowed as she listened, but moisture glistened on her face. She had to be thinking about Freddy, her parents, her sisters―.

"Amen."

"Amen." Anna furtively brushed at her cheek with the back of her hand, confirming Jake's suspicions she'd been crying. She seemed to want to keep her tears hidden from the others, though, so he pretended he hadn't seen them.

"Everyone, dig in!" Jackson waved grandly at the table with the carving knife as he got to his feet so he could get a better grip on the turkey.

During the meal, conversation drifted this way and that, sticking to general, safe subjects. They discussed the weather―_unseasonably mild_―the state of Welch's cows―_damned fine beasts, if stubborn as heck_―and even argued over who'd have won in the World Series last month if the attacks hadn't happened. While it was impossible to completely ignore the events of September, none of them was willing to touch on deeper and personal issues―which was fine by Jake. It allowed him to concentrate fully on enjoying the food.

The meal tasted as delicious as it had smelled, even if eating with a knife and fork again felt odd for the first five minutes. Jake had warned Anna to go slow with the meat; their digestive systems wouldn't take kindly to it after they'd lived on a diet of greens and fruit and grains for so long. The two or three slivers of chicken they'd occasionally found in their soup at the camp had hardly counted. However, he found it very difficult to resist gorging himself.

Not until the pie had been brought out and Madge had distributed generous slices did she first broach a personal subject, asking Jake about their travels. He explained briefly that they were headed to Kansas to join his family. After sneaking a peek at Anna from under his lashes, he pre-empted the obvious follow-up questions about how they'd ended up in Texas by talking about the eerily deserted countryside and the abandoned houses. He knew Anna hadn't stopped feeling guilty since she'd left the camp, deep down still believing she was abandoning her parents, and wouldn't want the Welches to know more about her personal business than necessary. He deflected their curiosity further by asking the Welches how they'd been allowed to remain at their farm.

"Ha!" Welch gladly let Jake's question distract him. "Not for lack of tryin' to make us go!" He went on to explain how he and his wife had early on made the decision to stay, despite soldiers coming round several times to urge them to leave. The third visit, the army had declared the next time would be a mandatory evacuation. "But me 'n Madge, we saw them comin', and we hid in the hayloft, so they stood there in the yard hollerin'." Welch laughed harshly, and added, gesturing wildly with his fork to underscore his words, "Ain't nobody gonna tell me to abandon my cows and my home for no reason but a damned government order."

"Hush!" Madge admonished. She dipped her head in the direction of the fork. "Put that down before you stab someone."

Welch grinned sheepishly and dropped his hand. "Sorry." He pricked up another piece of pie. "Anyway, we're doin' fine here. Got food, got heat. Clean water from the well. Don't need much else." He chewed and swallowed. "'Sides, we wanna be here when—."

Madge cleared her throat and muttered, "I don't think they wanna hear about that, Jackson."

Abruptly, the light mood around the table grew heavy. Jake swallowed his last bite of pie. "Mm," he commented in an attempt to bring everyone's spirits back up. "That was as good as my mom's blueberry."

Even as the last word left his lips, he wondered if it had been the right thing to say. He darted a glance at Madge. Would she take it as the compliment he'd intended it to be? He needn't have feared: the corners of her mouth curved up in a soft smile.

"Thank you, Jake. My boys―." Madge paused, her smile slipping until she forced it back. "My boys always loved that pie."

"They will again, Mother." For such a boisterous man, Welch could be remarkably gentle. Madge inclined her head, either to acknowledge her husband or to hide her face until she had herself under control.

Anna cleared her throat to break the awkward silence that once again had settled over the dinner table. "Your husband said they're in Arizona?" Jake gave her a sharp look, not convinced continuing this tack was the right one.

"Flagstaff. They're both students at Northern Arizona." Molly didn't seem unwilling to talk about her sons, perhaps even relieved to be able to do so, and Jake relaxed as she spoke with the parental pride of a woman who'd never attended college herself. "Here, this is them, three years ago." She got up to show them a framed photo of two boys, both wearing high school football jerseys. There was no mistaking the straight nose and heavy brows they'd inherited from their father.

"They're twins?" Jake asked, seeing how close in age the Welch boys were in the picture.

"Fraternal, yes." Molly beamed.

"They're handsome boys." Anna returned the frame to Madge, who set it down carefully next to her plate.

"We talked to them shortly after, you know. Haven't heard a peep since." Madge made a noise that might've been meant as a laugh. "Guess the mail's no longer working way it used to."

"You were lucky to get through," Jake said. The lines in Vernon had been dead by the time they'd gotten there and he and Anna didn't see a working phone again until the one in the gas station store had scared the living daylights out of them. The EMP grilling every electrical device had put an end after that to any hopes he'd had of phoning his parents to let them know he was still alive and where he was.

"I know." Welch nodded to underscore his agreement. "The line was bad, but at least we know the boys're alright."

There was another long pause, before Madge grabbed the knife she'd used to slice the pie. "Jake, a second piece?" Her voice was strained with forced gaiety. Jake started shaking his head; he was as stuffed as the turkey had been. Madge went on in a normal tone, "Sure? You could do with a bit of fattening up, if you ask me."

He laughed, waving her away. "No, really, thank you."

"How 'bout you?" Madge turned to Anna, the knife poised and ready.

Anna also shook her head. "Thanks, no. It was delicious, but―." She puffed up her cheeks and blew out the air, patting her stomach with a hand.

Madge's gaze traveled down to Anna's hand, resting on her belly. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she set down the knife. "So, lemme guess: four months?"

"What?" Startled, Anna dropped her hand and sat up straighter. Faint color rose in her cheeks.

Madge grinned, amused at Anna's astonishment. "You're four months along," she clarified. "Am I right?"

"Uhm..." Anna met Jake's eye for an instant, her shock evident. "Eighteen weeks, actually. How did you know?" She glanced down as if to check her appearance.

"What the blazes are you two on about?" Welch broke in. "Jake? You got any clue?"

"Anna's pregnant. We didn't think it was that obvious yet." Jake himself hadn't been able to tell until he helped her get out of a wet shirt, and he'd had all the facts.

"You're not showing yet, don't worry." Madge's smile took on a smug cast. "But women know such things."

"I'll be damned!" Welch smacked a fist on the table, setting the cutlery dancing and the glasses rattling. "Congratulations! I'd break out the scotch to celebrate. Except I don't have any left." He frowned. "And the moonshine I've been brewing's better suited for the generator. Even this latest batch."

"You'll figure it out, honey." Madge patted her husband's shoulder fondly as she moved round the table and started stacking empty plates together. She looked over at Jake. "It's gonna be winter up north soon," she pointed out. "And we hear there's refugee camps further south. With hospitals and everything." She directed her gaze from Jake to Anna and back. "It could be safer for you to go there instead of trying to make for Kansas."

Jake huffed a bitter laugh. "We came from one of those camps."

"You did?" Madge sat back down, the dishes seemingly forgotten. "Why'd you leave?"

"It wasn't safe." Jake shrugged. "Too many people, not enough food. Not enough of anything, really."

"There was a riot," Anna added softly. "People died. Jake suggested we leave."

"So, now you're headin' up there, huh?" Welch jerked his head in the direction he meant. "Think it'll be better in Kansas?"

"I don't know," Jake admitted. "I hope so." His dad had kept the town together during bad times before, and he'd never failed in mediating disputes between neighbors. He would've found a way to bring in the harvest, too; he wouldn't have let the corn and everything go to rot in the fields because of a damned regulation that said he should. "We've certainly eaten better on the road than we did at the camp. Although―," he grinned over at Madge and dipped his head at the leftovers and dirtied plates on the table, "―not half as good as this. Thank you."

She beamed at his praise. "I'll wrap some up for you, to take with you tomorrow. Should hold for a couple days, at least."

Getting to her feet again, she continued collecting the dirty plates, waving away Jake and Anna's offer to help. "You're guests here." She did, however, tell her husband to "get his rear end up and moving". Which Welch did with such an amount of muttered grumbling and griping that it made Anna laugh, and Jake understand it was a thing: Welch wouldn't really deny his wife.

Alone with Anna, Jake sought her gaze. "You okay?" he asked softly, meaning both physically and emotionally.

"It's hard, with the memories, but―they're nice people." Anna went quiet for a minute. "I'm glad we came."

"So am I," Jake agreed. Before he could say anything else, the door to the kitchen opened and Madge returned, carrying a tray with―Jake inhaled, hardly believing his nose. "Coffee?" he blurted.

Welch, following behind his wife, smirked over her shoulder at Jake as she set the tray down. "Surprised?"

"Very," Jake admitted, drawing in a deep whiff of the scent. Coffee, being a luxury, hadn't been among the supplies Ravenwood had bothered bringing to the camp. They'd prioritized more nutritious provisions, such as flour and rice. "Did you―?" He paused, not wanting to be nosy but curious to learn whether the Welches had simply been saving their supply for this occasion or if they'd had such a large quantity coffee stashed away they hadn't run out two months after the bombs hit.

"Cost me half a cow." Welch was happy to satisfy Jake's curiosity. "At the old farmer's market―a trading post, I guess you could call it now."

"Trading, huh." Jake thoughtfully blew on the coffee Madge had poured him. He'd refused her offer of sugar or milk, preferring to enjoy the taste of pure coffee. Who knew when he'd have the chance again. Though Welch's news shouldn't have come as a surprise: trading goods had sufficed to get people what they needed for centuries and with supermarkets and stores out of commission, everyone would've resorted to the old ways.

"Would they have vitamins?" Anna asked. Jake smiled; he'd been thinking the same thing.

"Vitamins?" Welch repeated. "Sure thing, sweetheart. Whatever you want: vitamins, tylenol, ibuprofen, about every over-the-counter pill you can think of." His face darkened. "Under-the-counter goods, too, on the black market."

"Where is this trading post?" If it wasn't far, it would be worth a detour to see if they could find the supplements for Anna, as well as any other useful provisions―although Jake had no idea what they could offer in trade.

Welch waved a gnarled hand. "A day's ride southwest of here."

A day's ride...? It took Jake a minute to recalculate. A day's ride on horseback would be at least two days on foot for them. And in the wrong direction, too. He sensed Anna's questioning gaze on him, and he gave her a small shake of the head. She sighed unhappily, but seemed resigned to going along with his judgment that they shouldn't try to go to this trading post. She'd had studied the map as closely as he'd had done and would know as well as he did that they couldn't really afford to take a days' long detour on the off chance they could find her the pills.

"Honey, I don't think you need to worry about it," Madge assured her softly. "With what you told me of your diet, you're gettin' plenty to make for a healthy baby." Jake gave her a thankful smile.

"'Sides," Welch offered, "there's probably some such place further up north, too. Met a few folk who're going from place to place to trade everywhere." He set down his mug, licked his lips and chuckled."You should hear some of the gossip that goes around... Like the governor is thinking 'bout Texas goin' it on our own." He blew out air and scrubbed the back of his neck. "Secession... Might be it's for the best... Did you know there's six presidents now?" He snorted to show what he thought of that. "As if one of those wasn't bad enough. Look at what―."

"Jackson." Madge's admonition was quiet but firm.

Jake buried his face in his coffee mug to hide his grin. He'd recognized the signs: Welch had been gearing up to get his rant on about politics and Madge wasn't having any of it. It reminded him of his own parents: his mom had never allowed his father to talk politics at the dinner table, either, even as she'd supported him without complaint through a number of mayoral campaigns.

Welch glared at his wife across the table. "I'm just sayin'―."

It was Anna's turn to interrupt. "How can there be six presidents?"

"There aren't," Jake said quickly, not giving Welch a chance to answer. "I read about this at the camp." Although then there'd been only four contenders. Obviously, the situation had become even more complicated since they'd left. And if Texas were to secede... He didn't know what it'd mean, but none of it would be any good. "They simply don't know who the rightful president is, so they're all claiming it's them. I guess the legal line of succession isn't clear, with so many officials dead in Washington."

"So how do they figure it out?"

Jake drained the last of his coffee. It had gone lukewarm. "I don't know. I suppose they start making deals, compromise. Or―." He stopped, not wanting to finish his sentence to its logical conclusion.

"Or they fight," Welch growled, finishing for him.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room at Welch's words. At last, Madge broke it. "Well," she pushed back her chair, "that's neither here nor there. Why don't I show you two to your room? It's gettin' late, and I'm sure you're tired from all that walking."

o0o

"And this is the guest room." Madge pushed open a door on the second floor and walked in. A double bed took up a large part of the floor space, while a small dresser with a wash pail on it stood against one wall and a large wardrobe was backed up against the other. It smelled fresh, of clean laundry and flowers. "There's towels in here," Madge went on as she walked over to the dresser and set the oil lamp next to the wash basin. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with sponge baths. We were using the generator to power the hot water, but we ran out of the last of our gas a week ago. I'll have Jackson bring you up some, though." She pulled the flowered curtains shut. "Come on in," she waved them in from the landing, "and make yourselves comfortable."

Jake let Anna enter ahead of. Her voice shook as she quietly thanked Madge, adding, "This is wonderful."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Madge put her hand on Anna's arm for a heartbeat and squeezed lightly. "I hope you sleep well."

Jake stepped back to allow Madge to leave, all the time eyeing up the double bed. It looked incredibly soft and inviting, with a thick duvet and smooth, white sheets. But he shouldn't―. His gaze traveled across the room and landed on the wicker chair in the corner.

"Don't tell me you're gonna suggest you sleep in that chair!" Anna's tone held a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Jake swung round to face her: it had been exactly what he'd been thinking, unwilling as he might have been to give up the bed. "I'm―."

"Cause that'd be ridiculous, after all these weeks." She cocked her head.

Jake's mouth curled up in a wry half-grin under her scrutiny. Anna was right; they'd been sleeping together for months, either sharing a sleeping bag for warmth or a cot in a pretense of being married. It'd be foolish to not use the soft bed to its full advantage. "Was looking for a place to put our packs," he lied.

Anna made a noise, part snort, part laughter, that told Jake he hadn't fooled her for a second. When had he become so transparent? Shaking his head at himself, he dropped the backpacks near the foot of the bed.

There was a knock, and Welch announced from the doorway, "Got ya the hot water." He sounded out of breath from lugging a bucket up the stairs.

"Thanks. I could've done that." Jake took the bucket from him. Steam swirled up into his face.

Welch waved Jake away. "Hey, you're the guests here. 'Sides, not like I haven't been hauling buckets o' water every day for the past week." He winked and added, "Nicer than a cold lake full o' snakes."

Jake set down the bucket―it was heavy―and laughed. "You're not gonna let me forget that, huh?"

Welch smirked. "Nope." Looking from Jake to Anna, he nodded once. "G'night. Holler if you need anything. Me 'n Madge are down the hall."

"Okay. Goodnight." Anna closed the door behind Welch as his heavy footsteps faded further down the hall.

Chuckling, Jake carried the bucket over to the dresser and poured some of the water into the pail for Anna. Setting the bucket on the floor, he scanned the small room. They'd be hard-pressed to find any privacy.

"Um, I'll go―." Failing to find a credible excuse to leave the room, he gave up and simply stepped out onto the landing. Perhaps, if they'd been a married couple for real, it wouldn't have mattered, but as things stood―.

After a few minutes, plenty of time for a thorough sponge bath, the door opened behind Jake with a soft click. "Your turn."

Several minutes later, feeling cleaner than he had in weeks, Jake joined Anna under the covers, trying to get comfortable on his back. The mattress was soft and the pillow cradled his head pleasantly, but Jake still found it hard to catch sleep. And from the way Anna's breathing hitched occasionally, he could tell she wasn't asleep either.

In fact, she sounded like she was trying not to cry, and he longed to hold her. The conversation over dinner had maybe upset her; it had been a while since she talked about her parents or what might've happened to them. But he didn't dare reach out for her. His rational mind told him he was being absurd, but the rest of him discovered that lying beside her in a real bed made it difficult not to remember she'd been engaged to his best friend and she was carrying that friend's baby.

"Jake?" Her question sounded small and sad, and hearing it broke through Jake's reluctance. How lonely she must feel. No matter his own discomfort, he _was_ her only friend. If he couldn't offer her comfort, who could?

He rolled over, curling his body around hers, and she shifted until she lay spooned against his chest. She was just starting to relax in his embrace when he felt her tense up again. "What's wrong?"

"Ssh." She reached around until her grasping fingers closed around his wrist. Dragging his arm forward, she splayed his palm across her belly. He could feel the soft swell of the baby and―.

He sucked in a gasp. "Is that―?"

"Yes," she whispered back. "Feel it?"

Jake nodded, although, with her back to him, she wouldn't be able to see the gesture. He didn't dare speak. Heck, he hardly dared breathe. Beneath his palm, so slight that at first he wasn't even sure it wasn't his imagination, he felt movement. Warmth surged through him, and something else, that he didn't recognize at first, before it dawned on him: a desire to protect. And it might be old-fashioned, and possibly even sexist, but right then, he didn't care.

He kept his palm flat on her belly for at least five minutes. Finally, Anna twisted and shifted around until she could look at him. He could barely make out her features in the gloom that filtered through the thin curtains. He raised up on one elbow to see her better.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered, so softly Jake had to strain to make out the words, despite the silence of the night.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled faintly, her eyes glittering and her lips parted ever so slightly and Jake moved in to―. He flinched as if burned, realizing he'd been going to... to _kiss_ her. He dropped his head onto his pillow, wanting to draw away from her as far as he could. But he also didn't want to alert Anna that anything was wrong, so he settled for suppressing a groan. Anna turned her back on him once more and settled down. Lucky, she seemed unaware of what he'd almost done, or she'd have kicked him out of the bed for sure.

Staring at the lighter square of the window, Jake attempted to get his racing heart under control. What the hell had he been thinking? Ten minutes ago, he'd been worried about sharing a bed with her because she'd been engaged to another man, and five minutes ago he'd resolved he'd do whatever he needed to do to protect her―and then he'd been willing to take advantage of her vulnerability at the first opportunity?

Swearing he'd keep himself in check—that what had nearly happened would never happen–he waited until Anna had fallen asleep, her deep, even breathing giving her away. Once he was convinced she was asleep, he rolled onto his back, carefully keeping away from her, believing he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

But the soft bed must have called to his weary body more than he'd expected. Despite his mental turmoil, Jake drifted off. He didn't wake again until Welch knocked on their door the following morning, with sunlight was streaming in through the curtain.

o0o

Whistling as he went downstairs for breakfast, Jake felt more refreshed than he had in weeks. Last night had been like a bad dream, and he convinced himself it had just been the effect of the general sense of relaxation brought on by the copious Thanksgiving dinner, nothing else.

Madge had to be an early riser: the table was already loaded with scrambled fresh eggs and toasted thick slices of her homemade bread. Jake savored every available bite of the morning meal, knowing it could be weeks before he had one like it. _When we get home_, he caught himself thinking, smiling.

His good mood was infectious, or perhaps Anna's spirits had also lifted after a good night's rest in a real bed and the wonderful food Madge had served. She walked with a spring in her step Jake hadn't seen in weeks.

Repacking their bags with the now-dry clothes, they also crammed in a number of tinfoil-wrapped parcels and packets, which Madge had put together for them "for on the road". At last, they were ready to go and saying their farewells. Madge remained on the porch, waving until she was just a speck in the distance. Welch accompanied them to the end of his driveway. "Take care when you're crossing I-40." Welch's eyes crinkled as he squinted in the direction of the interstate that cut from east to west a couple dozen miles further north. "They haven't been sighted this far south―," The 'yet' was unspoken but implied in his concerned tone, "but I been hearin' there's a band of outlaws waylaying whoever they can."

"Thanks, we'll be careful." Jake reflexively checked the Beretta was in his belt at his hip. Then, shaking Welch's hand, he waited while Anna gave their host a hug and a kiss on his cheek. Jake had to bite his lip to hold back the smile as the old farmer blushed under his leathery tan and brusquely waved them away.

"Off you go! Got a long walk before you."

o0o

They crossed the interstate two days later, under cover of darkness.

Mid-afternoon, when they were roughly a mile from the road, Jake had stopped them. "Let's wait for sunset." Dropping his backpack, he'd stretched his stiff spine until it crackled. Welch's warning still rang clear in his mind. "Better be safe." They hadn't seen any sign so far of a road gang, but Jake wasn't prepared to risk their lives just to gain a few hours of time.

Dusk was settling over the land by the time they gathered their feet back under them, hoisted their backpacks, and set off on the final miles of the day. Their load had grown less heavy as they'd slowly eaten Madge's provisions and soon they'd have to scrounge for food again. But first, they had to make it safely across the highway.

It had grown overcast while they waited and night was on them quicker than Jake had anticipated. They hit the southern service road in deep gloom and Jake stopped at its edge, peering left and right into the darkness, searching for movement or lights. All he saw was an endless black nothing.

"Okay, let's go." He took Anna's hand to help her across the uneven strip of dirt between the service road and the west-east lane of the interstate. They crossed the sand-sprinkled asphalt quickly, scrambled over the divide, across the next lane and over the second service road. Stumbling at last onto a dirt track leading further north, they paused to catch their breath.

"It's creepy," Anna muttered.

Jake glanced at her, but he couldn't make out anything about her beyond a vague shape. "What is?"

"This." She flapped a barely visible hand at the highway. "I mean, it's not San Diego, of course, but I can't help thinking there should be _some_ traffic on the interstate: trucks, trailers, you know. Or at least you should be able to see lights in the distance."

"Right." Jake considered the invisible road for a minute. In truth, it was no more eerie than the barren, abandoned landscape they'd been traveling through, but the highway brought the desolation home more starkly. "Come on, we should keep going."

With heavy clouds blocking the moonlight, they barely could see their hands in front of their faces, and it was tricky walking along the dirt track. It'd be far too easy to trip over a pothole or a loose stone and twist an ankle, and Jake considered getting out the flashlight. But Anna's subdued comment had reminded him how far the glow would be visible in the flat emptiness of northern Texas: an obvious sign of human presence for anyone who cared to look for such things.

They stumbled on awkwardly for a mile or so. Reckoning they were far enough away from the interstate that they should be safe, Jake called a halt. It was impossible to scout around for any shelter in the impenetrable dark, so they simply edged to the grass at the side of the track and sat down. There, they put up their simple camp by touch. Jake chuckled inwardly at the irony: they'd had enough practice that they could have unrolled and zipped together their sleeping bags blindfold.

He was glad they'd eaten before crossing the interstate. That earlier foresight meant they could simply crawl into the sleeping bags and lie down to wait for morning.

As he lay on the hard ground, Jake struggled to relax. Everything indicated they'd succeeded in sneaking across the highway without anyone the wiser. Nonetheless, he slept fitfully, constantly waking up convinced he'd heard the sound of approaching engines. Each time, as he strained his ears, he detected nothing beyond the wind through the grass. Still, he was glad when daylight came and they could leave the interstate behind for good.

o0o

Two more days went by and, by Jake's calculation, the interstate was twenty miles behind them, when the sun came out again. It was chilly, though; the temperature had dropped several degrees since Thanksgiving. He was just starting to look out for a good place for their midday break when a sixth sense made the hair of the back of his neck stand on end. He stopped dead in his tracks, pricking up his ears and extending his other senses, trying to determine what had gotten his instincts screaming at him.

"What's going―?" Anna had carried on walking and was now several paces ahead. She halted and turned around to face Jake, the rest of the question written on her face. She didn't need to finish asking; her brows shot up as she, too, recognized the sound that had brought Jake up short. And the noise was growing progressively louder with each passing second, its origin unmistakable. "A plane?" she whispered, disbelievingly.

The next instant, two jet fighters roared overhead to one side of them, flying low as they followed the contours of the land. Jake rotated on his heel as he tracked the planes' path across the sky. "Those are Typhoons..." Surprised, he raised his hand to block the sun and confirm the type; they weren't the kind of jets he'd expected them to be. "Germans?" It was difficult to make out the markings as the planes zipped by, but he was fairly certain he'd identified them correctly.

"What?" Anna also tracked the jets' flight as they screamed northward. "From Germany?"

Jake smiled inwardly; she sounded as puzzled as he was. The last thing he would've expected to see over Texas was German jets.

"Why would there be European military planes here?" Anna gave voice to their confusion as they continued to watch the planes until they were two small specks on the horizon, leaving nothing but stunned silence in their wake.

"Beats me." Foreign jet fighters patrolling US airspace had only happened once in history, though Germany was also part of NATO, Jake reminded himself. "If they're German, they're our allies. So―."

A new noise broke the still afternoon, cutting Jake off mid-sentence. It came from the south, approaching on the same trajectory as the jets had. Jake swallowed the rest of his words, cocking his head and turning back to where he'd first spotted the Typhoons. This sound was different. Not the high pitched screech of fighter engines, but the low, lazy rumble of―he frowned, baffled. "Bombers?" he muttered, half to himself.

"Bombers?" A note of panic crept into Anna's voice. "Jake, what the hell's going on?"

"I don't know." He scanned the area instinctively, but the flat, bare land offered no shelter. Then heavy-bodied planes came out of the sun at last and Jake exhaled, relieved, as he recognized the model. These were C-130s: either their own, or...?

The planes had British tail markings, he saw, once they were close enough he could feel the thrum of their heavy engines in his stomach. "Jake!" Anna hissed. "Shouldn't we take cover?"

Despite his unease at the entire situation, Jake had to fight back a laugh at how she sounded like a character in a bad war movie―but, he reminded himself, war movies and the TV news would have been as close as she'd ever gotten to experiencing armed conflict before the bombs two months ago. "No, those're transport planes, not bombers." Besides, there was only scant cover to be had and he doubted that, whatever the planes' mission was, it included dropping bombs on a couple of refugees on a country road.

As if to prove him wrong, objects started tumbling out of the planes. Jake sucked in air, shocked speechless. White parachutes bloomed against the deep blue sky and he expelled the breath. Nobody put a parachute on a bomb. Did they?

He counted the parachutes: seven, eight... Twelve in total. "Come on," he urged Anna. "One of those landed close by. I want to see what it is." What purpose could the Germans and British have for dropping stuff in a field in Texas? He mentally called up the map of the state, having studied it so often he no longer needed to consult the paper copy. They were a dozen or so miles east of Pampa, the biggest town for some distance round. Perhaps Pampa had been the planes' target?

It took twenty minutes of fast walking to reach the field with the payload. The parachute, fluttering lazily in the cold wind coming in from the north, was tied to a square, tarp-covered parcel, the entire structure a couple inches taller than Jake. Canvas straps were keeping the tarp in place. Jake dug for his pocket knife.

"We should―," Anna tried to caution him, but Jake had already cut the first strap and was peeling off the tarp. Underneath, he discovered a pile of wooden crates and cardboard boxes, stenciled with mysterious numbers that meant nothing to him, alongside an emblem of a circle of golden stars on a blue background.

Jake recognized the symbol, and a fresh wave of relief washed through him. "It's definitely European," he told Anna, pointing at the mark. Whatever the contents of the cargo were, he didn't believe it was a threat. He hefted one of the boxes from the pile. It was heavy, and he grunted as he set it on the yellowed grass. Using his knife again, he cut the tape that held it closed, and peeled back the lid, revealing neat rows of cans. He picked one out to read the label.

He whistled with pleasure. His German was largely limited to the _Danke schön_ and _auf Wiedersehen_ he'd picked up from the Austrian aid workers in Afghanistan, but he didn't need to be able to read the label to recognize the cans for what they were. "It's food." He peered up at Anna. She was leaning over his shoulder, the frown between her brows smoothing out as he grinned up at her. "It's an aid drop."

He wanted to throw his head back and laugh. The rest of the world hadn't missed what had happened in the United States. Help was coming.

o0o

After discovering what was in the cargo, they quickly shucked their backpacks and started going through the rest of the crates and boxes systematically. The drop was a smorgasbord of goods, an odd mixture of sensible and less pragmatic items. Jake quickly sorted through boxes filled with bags of flour and rice, bars of soap, packets of laundry detergent―.

"Ooh!" At Anna's delighted squeal, he looked up from the toy cars and teddy bears he'd unearthed in the latest box. She grinned goofily as she held up a squarish packet of―.

"Toilet paper," she confirmed gleefully, wiggling her brows.

Jake snorted a laugh and nodded―yes, they could take it. She put the pack with the rest of the goods they'd already set aside. The six-pack of rolls was bulky, but toilet paper didn't weigh much, and it would be pleasanter than tufts of grass.

Continuing his own exploration, Jake folded the flaps closed on the box with the toys―not his highest priority, he chuckled―and put it out of the way. He pulled a second crate from the pile. As he pried open the lid, it was his turn to cry out in triumph. Protected in foam pellets were a number of small transistor radios, along with packets of spare batteries. Now _that_ was more practical than kids' toys! He took out one of the radios and tore open a packet of batteries to test the radio hadn't been damaged during its fall and that everything was working. While all he caught was static, it told him the radio's receiver was working fine. He set it aside and picked up another radio―best to have a spare. He'd try going through the frequencies later and see if he could receive any broadcasts.

Despite Jake's delight at his prize, it was Anna who discovered the mother lode among the treasures. "What the heck is this?" she asked, her tone puzzled.

Abandoning the crate of radios, Jake twisted on his heel to see her holding up a handful of small tinfoil pouches, bafflement creasing her brow. Each of the pouches was labeled with an image of a plate full of appetizing food, and the mere sight of the pictures made Jake's mouth water.

Heart beating against his ribs in suppressed excitement, he scrambled over. "I think you struck gold," he muttered. He picked up another pouch and turned it over. The description printed on it was in two languages: English and a European language he didn't recognize. Also German, he reckoned, although it might have been Swedish. He hefted the package, gauging its weight, already making calculations. "It's freeze dried food. Used in mountain expeditions and backcountry trekking."

Anna was reading the instructions on the back. "It says here," she flicked the label printed on the pouch with a finger, "that you just add boiling water and you'll have chicken noodles ten minutes later?"

"That's the idea."

"It's..." Anna raised her head, her mouth open. "Jake, that sounds _awful_."

Jake laughed at the face she was making. "It does, doesn't it?" He reminded himself this was the same woman who'd considered eating a beetle, one day when they'd been very low on supplies. She'd snapped it up in her fingers as it crawled over her while they were taking a break in the grass and cradled it in her palm. The beetle had been big, black and sporting too many legs.

"TV says they make a good source of protein."

"You're not saying―?" Jake had goggled at Anna instead of the bug. Most women would've screamed in fright and disgust at the mere sight of the bug and slapped it away quickly. They wouldn't have held it in their hand and they _definitely_ wouldn't have suggested what Anna was considering.

"Why not? Lots of cultures have bugs in their diet."

Jake had shuddered and shaken his head, laughing. "If you want to, go ahead. I don't think I'm that starved yet."

"Hm." She'd watched the beetle for a minute longer as it crawled up her index finger. With a soft chuckle, she'd shaken it off and watched it scuttle away. "Me neither."

Jake tried to estimate the number of pouches in the box. One thing was for sure: they wouldn't need to eat beetles for a while.

"Who cares if it's horrible? It's food. Probably not as bad as it sounds, either." Jake would guess these meals were similar to the MREs the troops had shared with him on occasion in Iraq. For all the soldiers had bitched about the prepackaged meals, they hadn't tasted too bad. He grabbed a handful of the packets from the box and bounced them in his palm. "More importantly, they're light and easy to carry. With this," he jerked his head at the box, "we can stop worrying about our next meal until we get to Jericho." The contents of this one box alone was more than enough to make it to Kansas twice over. It'd offer a relief from the constant nagging worry about looming starvation that was never far from his mind. Especially since the weather was growing colder with each passing day and with every mile further north that they walked.

And not having to scrounge for supplies would also allow them to make better time. Abruptly, Jake had a vision of Christmas at the house: a fire in the hearth, sharing a drink with Dad, Mom making roast beef in the kitchen...

Shaking off the fantasy, he crammed as many of the tinfoil meals into his backpack as he could manage, waving for Anna to do the same. "Let's take as many of these as we can carry, and get out of here."

"Don't you want to see what else might be in there?" She knelt next to him and started grabbing handfuls of the pouches.

"No." Jake scanned the area around the field. "We should be going." They'd hung around at the drop site for far too long already. He hadn't tracked the time, but by his reckoning, at least an hour had passed since the Hercules transports had flown over. Chances were others had seen the planes as well and were coming to check out what had been dropped. They could be friendly, like Jackson Welch and his wife had been, but they could just as easily be mercenaries, like Ravenwood, or black market traders, or simply hungry and hostile people from nearby towns. In any case, not people Jake wanted to tangle with. "Besides, I doubt we'll find anything more valuable than this."

After they'd filled their packs with as many of the pouches as they could, Jake put the two radios and several spare sets of batteries on top and tied the straps. As soon as Anna had grabbed her rolls of toilet paper and made sure her backpack was properly secured, they got out of the field. Whoever came round next to investigate the cargo was welcome to it.

o0o


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Hearing the distinct whine of engines far in the distance a little later, Jake was glad they'd left the field when they did. They never saw the cars; and they'd put a good number of miles between themselves and the drop point by the time nightfall found them holed up in a dip between low hills, setting up camp on a sandy patch of ground next to a gurgling brook. They used soap from the aid drop to wash up in the small stream, before Jake built a fire so they could boil water for their instant meals. It'd be safe enough; the shallow depression would keep the flames from being spotted unless someone stumbled right onto them.

Reading the instructions for a final time, still wearing a dubious wrinkle between her brows, Anna poured hot water in two of the packets. She sniffed the contents suspiciously while they steeped, her nose crinkling up in a way Jake secretly found cute.

Once the prescribed number of minutes had ticked by, she scooped out a small bite of food from the packet and nibbled it off the spoon, tasting it cautiously. Through his lashes, Jake observed her quietly. At last, her apprehensive frown eased up. She glanced across the fire at Jake, rolling her eyes when she saw how intently he'd been watching her. "This isn't bad," she admitted, lifting another spoonful to her mouth. "Not bad at all."

"Uh-huh." Jake grinned back and reached for his own pouch. He soon agreed with her assessment: the venison stew in his meal tasted pretty good. Could be due to the quality of the foreign freeze-dried meal, or could be because he'd grown unaccustomed to well-seasoned flavors. Frankly, he didn't care. He quickly wolfed down the meal, more sated than he had since the Thanksgiving dinner at the Welch farm.

Once they'd eaten their fill, Jake collected the empty wrappers and buried them in the dirt, while Anna lay in the soft grass, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction. Excavating handfuls of the dirt to make a hollow, Jake couldn't have explained why he was bothering to bury their trash―nobody would care about the environment these days―but it felt like the right thing to do. And it wasn't a chore, anyway. He brushed the long blades of grass over the disturbed ground, and then threw another branch on the fire to ward off the evening chill. As the flames licked at the fresh wood, he settled across from Anna, folding his legs under him, and took one of the radios from his pack. Re-inserting the batteries, he switched it on. Twisting up the volume until he could hear a soft whisper from the tiny speaker, he started dialing through the frequencies.

"You really think you can catch anything on that?" Anna had raised herself on her elbows and the glow of the fire reflected rosily on her face as she scrutinized the tiny radio in Jake's hands.

"Hope so." Jake offered a one-shouldered shrug. "It's worth a try. Medium wave radio signals can travel a long distance, especially at night. Assuming someone's still broadcasting, we should―." He broke off, thinking he'd found something.

"Hm." Anna sat up fully and stretched out her hands to the flames. Behind them, outside the circle of light cast by the fire, the dark night was growing cold.

The noise turned out to be nothing but a crackle of static. Jake went on dialing further up the AM-band, moving the knob forward in tiny increments, listening carefully. For the most part, the radio hissed nothing but white noise. Until, abruptly, a scratchy voice rang out across their camp, spitting sentence fragments. "...vernor Todd of Tex...remain calm...under control...Republic of..."

"Oh my God." Anna drew in a sharp breath and crawled over to sit on her knees next to Jake, her gaze glued to the radio as if it were magical. Jake desperately tried to fine-tune the reception. He raised the radio, aiming it this way and that. Nothing made a difference: eventually, whatever station he'd caught faded into static.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know." Jake replayed the fragments in his head. "A Texas station, I'd guess." The bits and pieces he'd understood had been part of an official news broadcast. "Sounds like the authorities are still out there, trying to get things back under control."

"Try again." Anna leaned forward, as if she wanted to snatch the radio out of his grip. "Maybe there's more."

Jake chuckled at her impatience, but she didn't need to tell him twice; churning the snippets from the broadcast over in his mind, he went on rotating through the rest of the AM-band. If there was one station broadcasting, there might be others.

They found the next station several frequencies further on. It came on as unexpectedly as the first, blasting a combined rhythm of congas and trumpets out into the silent night, the noise so unexpectedly loud Jake nearly dropped the radio from shock. The music was Latin―he thought it was salsa―and it offered such a slice of pre-bombs normal life that Jake stared open-mouthed at the radio.

"Music!" Anna recovered from her surprise first. Laughing delightedly, she pushed to her feet. "God, how I've missed that."

Jake uttered a laugh of his own at the sheer joy on her face. She'd always had the radio on in the background at the bar, set to a San Diego music station. He watched her as she danced across the sand, twirling on her toes, feet tapping and hips swaying to the rhythm. Mesmerized and smiling, he watched her.

"Come on, Jake." She gestured for him to join her. Jake hesitated. He wasn't much of a dancer at the best of times. Not taking no for an answer, Anna shimmied over, grabbing his hand and trying to drag him to his feet. "C'mon! Before it's finished."

"Careful," he protested, yet his grin widened. He quickly placed the radio among their packs, so they wouldn't trip over it, and let her pull him onto her dance floor of patchy grass and soft sand.

"No, like this." Anna's cheeks dimpled as she showed him the steps. It took Jake a couple of tries to get it right. Just as he was getting the hang of it, the song ended and a rapid burst of spoken Spanish replaced it.

Anna cocked her head to listen. "It's a Mexican station." She looked up. "I suppose the rest of the world is still normal?"

"I guess so." As normal as could be at any rate, with the United States basically paralyzed.

The DJ finished whatever he'd been announcing, and the next song came on. This one was a ballad, sung by a female singer in a wistful voice.

Jake didn't want the moment to be over so soon. He sought Anna's gaze and she gave him a barely perceptible nod. Drawing her closer, he rested one hand firmly on the small of her back and the other on her hip. She put her arms over his shoulders and twined her fingers together around his neck, and let him guide her into a less extravagant slow dance. This was something Jake could do.

The soft music washed over the dell, the singer's voice mingling with the low crackling of the flames and gurgle of water. Sensing Anna's mood had gone back to the stark realities of their lives, Jake murmured reassurances into her hair. "We'll be fine. " She smelled a little of the soap from Europe and Jake relished her scent as he breathed it in. It was nice to have real soap again.

She drew her head back until she could lift her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were dark pools, unreadable. Without thinking, Jake lowered his head, and captured her lips with his. Anna responded unhesitatingly, kissing him back for several seconds, before she drew away. "Jake, I―."

He yanked his hands from her hips as if burned. "I'm sorry," he gasped. It was hard to concentrate with the taste of her on his tongue, but―she was Freddy's girl. "I'm so sorry."

Not waiting for her to reply, he wrenched free of her arms, still around his neck, and stumbled off into the darkness, until he could no longer feel the heat of the fire and all he saw ahead was inky blackness. He gulped down several deep lungfuls of the cold night air, fighting to get his hammering heart under control. Dear God, what had he done?

Behind him, the music stuttered, atmospheric disturbances breaking up the radio waves. Ears perked up, he detected the tiny click as Anna turned off the radio and cut off the buzz that had replaced the music. The sudden, heavy silence that followed seemed especially deafening. He furtively glanced across his shoulder, not really wanting to meet Anna's gaze, afraid of what he'd see in her face. She wasn't looking at him; she'd was busy unrolling their two sleeping bags.

Jake hesitated. He should go help her; sometimes the zipper on her bag proved tricky and would get stuck. And he couldn't stay out here all night. He shivered in the freezing air. Steeling himself, he headed back down the slight slope into their dell. As he re-entered the circle of light cast by their fire, Anna tilted her head a little in his direction, though she didn't meet his eyes. He swallowed. "Anna, I'm―."

"Let's just go to sleep, okay?" She offered him the unzipped ends of the sleeping bags. She kept her head low and he couldn't tell from her tone or her expression what she was thinking.

_But I can make a pretty good guess. _Wordlessly, Jake took the sleeping bags from her and zipped them together into a single big one. Perhaps he should offer to sleep across the fire from her. But it was cold, and getting colder by the minute, and they were both tired, and the fire would go out while they slept. Sharing a sleeping bag with Jake would be the last thing Anna would want to do, but it was also the best way to stay alive.

Once they'd climbed into the sleeping bags, Jake remained lying stiffly on his back, one arm pillowed behind his head, in stark contrast to the way he'd lain spooned around Anna, sharing as much body heat as possible, for the past month. As the hours went by and the fire slowly sunk into glowing embers, the cold started sneaking in the bag. Anna instinctively sought his warmth, curling up against his side, startling Jake awake from a restless slumber. He hardly dared move as he lay listening to her breathing and waited for morning.

o0o

At first light, Jake crawled awkwardly from the sleeping bag, stiff and sore. Despite his care, the movement woke Anna. She yawned as she pushed away the covers and sat up.

As per their usual morning routine, they didn't speak beyond, "Hand me that rope?" and "Don't forget to fill the water bottles before we leave," while they rolled the sleeping bags and repacked the backpacks. Neither of them mentioned what had happened the night before. Jake glanced at Anna as he removed the batteries from the radio so they wouldn't leak, before stashing everything on top of the rest of his stuff and tying the straps of his backpack. Though she caught his glance, she didn't comment, and Jake had no clue what he could say that she'd want to hear. So he said nothing.

Their mutual silence was both a relief and a torment. Several times during the following days, he considering apologizing to her further. Until he remembered the taste of her, and the warm, yielding softness of her lips, and how nice it had been to kiss her. Despite the guilt, the apology would die unspoken in his throat.

For Anna's part, Jake got the impression she preferred to act as if nothing had ever happened and, despite his own intermittent desire to explain, perhaps he should respect that. In the end, he settled on firmly determining that it could never, _ever_ happen again.

In spite of their unspoken understanding to not talk about the kiss, their relationship had changed. At first, Jake couldn't put his finger on exactly how. At last, as he mulled it over while they put mile after mile behind them, he figured it out: the easy friendship they'd gradually developed between them―the same closeness that had made him kiss her in the first place―was gone. They'd reverted to a level of awkwardness reminiscent of those first hours after they'd fled San Diego. He silently mourned the loss; it was hard enough to survive in this new world without feeling you couldn't rely on the person you were with. He hoped that, over time, he could regain her trust. He'd certainly try to. And in the meantime, he'd concentrate on getting them to Jericho as safely and as quickly as he could.

A handful of strained days later they were crossing through the narrow Oklahoma panhandle, the last bit of land that kept them from Kansas. From home. Jake chuckled ruefully as he picked up on the stray thought; he hadn't consciously called Kansas _home_ in a long time. But seeing the country go up in flames around him had changed his perspective. Now he longed to see the cornfields stretching over the gently rolling low hills surrounding Jericho. Although, at this time of year, he amended, he hoped to see those fields stripped bare, with the harvest secured to tide Jericho over the coming winter.

The morning had dawned overcast, slate gray clouds blocking the sun. During the first couple days after the aid drop, the sky had been clear enough for them to spot the occasional contrail, high up, though they hadn't seen any other planes. They certainly wouldn't be seeing any today. Despite the clouds, the air was still crisp, their breath fogging in front of their faces. Jake reckoned the first snow storm of the season was approaching, and he kept one eye on the clouds and one on the road. Snow would slow them considerably and might interfere with his hopes of reaching Kansas by the next nightfall―and even making it home before Christmas if the weather held well enough.

Putting one foot in front of the other, he walked on on auto-pilot, daydreaming of their arrival in Jericho. He pictured his mother's face when she saw him striding up the path to the porch, and smiled to himself.

"Jake?"

Jake blinked and lifted his head. The wind was picking up and a blast of cold air brought tears to his eyes.

Anna was pointing to a rough wooden sign Jake had missed entirely, deep in thought as he'd been. The words _Gopher Creek Trading 3m_ were burned into the surface of the sign. An arrow directed travelers right onto a narrow track of hard-packed dirt. Jake peered down at the dirt, for a long minute not understanding what was strange and different about it. Over time, the elements had smoothed the surface of the dirt tracks they'd been walking along into unmarked layers of dust and sprouting weeds, but this trail was showing signs of motorized traffic having passed not long ago.

Frowning absently at the tire tracks and trying to determine the implications of cars on the road, Jake grew aware Anna had carried on talking to him.

"...should we look for vitamin supplements? I'm almost out..."

Welch had talked of a place where people traded goods. He must've been talking about a place like this, a trading post, and he'd said they sold all kinds of over the counter medicine. So they might have the vitamins Anna needed at Gopher Creek.

Jake weighed their options. Should they veer off course three miles to the east, on the off chance the trading post offered what they wanted? Both ways, it meant a six mile detour—which would set them back half a day. On the other hand, Anna's stock of vitamins from the camp wouldn't stretch until they reached Jericho. And while the manufacturer's statements on the freeze-dried food labels boasted proudly of the various vitamins their meals contained, Jake didn't know how reliable those claims were, or if they were the kinds of vitamins a pregnant woman needed.

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly. The tire tracks worried him―who'd have the gas to spare to drive a car these days? Maybe he should—no, if he went by himself, he'd have to leave Anna behind on her own, and that'd be as bad as taking her into an uncertain situation with him. At least if he took her with him, he'd be able to keep an eye on her. If he didn't like the look of the place, they could simply go back, no harm done other than the loss of time. And if the trading post did seem safe, perhaps it'd also offer shelter from the approaching storm. "Let's go."

A mile or so down the track, they were forced to scramble onto the shoulder by a handful of pickups driving up fast from behind. The trucks―rusted and dented models dating back at least several decades―were rolling by in what Jake instantly recognized as convoy mode. What had worked in Iraq worked in post-attack America too: there was safety in numbers. The tips of shotgun muzzles stuck out of passenger windows and tarps covered what was the beds. In the back of each truck sat an armed guy huddled deep into his coat against the chill, guarding the cargo.

The last of the trucks, a two-toned Ford 100 as old as the others, flew a Confederate flag, a sticker proclaiming _White Pride Worldwide_ on the bumper. As it passed them, the guy in the back got up, holding onto the cab's roof with one hand as he balanced precariously in the bouncing truck. Jake glimpsed an unshaven face scowling out of the hood of a sweatshirt as the guy hollered at Anna, "Hey, baby, wanna ride?"

Jake's hand instinctively sought out the Beretta in his belt. Thankfully, the truck didn't slow down, just left them coughing in the cloud of dust settling in the wake of the convoy. Jake slowly let out a deep breath. "Sorry 'bout that."

Anna offered him a rueful smile. "I've heard worse."

Jake snorted a laugh. He bet she had, running a bar in San Diego. Shaking off the memory of the leering face, he followed her back onto the road.

Not long after, they had their first sighting of the trading post, several hundred yards off. Jake steps faltered as he got a good look. He couldn't tell what he'd expected―an old log cabin, like in the movies, maybe. It certainly hadn't been a sprawling complex of crooked lean-tos, corrugated metal sheds and tents, fenced off with barbed wire. He could spot at least two armed men patrolling the perimeter.

As they moved closer, he took stock of the steel oil drums blocking the dirt track leading into the trading ground. They'd be filled with water or sand, so any truck moving in or out of the place would have to navigate carefully around them, and nobody would be able to gatecrash into the compound at high speed. The setup made sense; Jake had seen enough chaos and danger to understand how caution really was the better part of valor.

A field outside the fence served as a parking lot. The pickups that had passed them earlier had been left haphazardly among a number of other equally ancient cars. Jake even spied a horse-drawn cart.

Beyond the guards and the fence, many people were milling around. The number should've been reassuring, but it didn't make the place appear any friendlier to Jake.

"Wow..." Anna muttered, giving voice to her shock. She'd cocked her head, a small frown creasing her brow as she regarded the trading post. She seemed as full of doubt as Jake. Did they want to get mixed up with this place?

"What do you think?" Jake shifted the backpack.

Anna offered him a small shrug. "We've come this far, might as well go in."

"Okay." Jake tightened the shoulder straps on his pack. "But let's make it quick, okay? In and out." Looming snowstorm or not, he didn't think he wanted to spend a second longer behind that fence than absolutely necessary. "And stay close."

o0o

One of the armed men patrolling outside the fence stopped them as they made their way around the oil drum blockade. Sporting gray stubble beneath a dirty baseball cap, he scrutinized them both from head to toe and back, his gaze lingering on Anna longer than necessary. At last, he extended his hand in Jake's direction, palm up. "Guns."

Jake stared at the open hand. Once they'd made the decision to detour to the trading post, he'd put the Beretta within easy reach in his belt. The weight of the weapon was comforting. Having now seen the actual compound, he had no desire whatsoever to walk through that fence without it. "We're not armed," he tried.

"Course you ain't." The guard snorted in disdain. "Think you're bein' original? Sorry pal, no guns on the grounds. Management's orders." He shrugged, as if he didn't particularly care. "Up to you. You either gimme your weapons for safekeepin', or you can haul ass right back where you came from."

Jake mentally groaned in frustration. The guard wasn't going to be fooled or swayed. To be honest, while he didn't want to relinquish his gun, it was also somewhat reassuring that whoever was running the place had set a no-guns rule and was enforcing it. He curled a hand under his jacket to get the Beretta. "I want it back."

Eyeballing Jake with part exasperation, part offense, the guard grunted something unintelligible that Jake took as assent. He held the guy's gaze for a moment before placing his Beretta in the man's outstretched palm. He couldn't care less if the guard was offended; he wanted there to be no misunderstandings.

Without looking, the guard passed the weapon over to another man, his gaze never leaving Jake and Anna. The second guard was younger than the first, around Jake's own age, and wearing camouflage pants and an old army jacket. He took Jake's gun into a small rickety shed next to the opening in the fence. A gun rack was mounted on the wall, holding the strangest assortment of weapons Jake had ever seen: everything from dainty Derringers to sawed-off shotguns, and pretty much every type of firearm ever manufactured in between.

The man hung Jake's Beretta among the odd collection on the board and returned to shove small wooden token at Jake. "That'll get ya back your gun when you leave."

Jake took the token and made sure he stowed it securely in his jeans pocket. He'd have to trust the guards on their word; the only alternative was to walk away from the trading post without having tried to find Anna's supplements―and that'd be a waste of a six-mile walk.

He glanced over at Anna to check she was ready to go on, and moved to walk past the guards. "Whoa, hold up." The younger guard lowered his shotgun and aimed it roughly in their direction. Jake stopped dead in his tracks. The gun was steady, the guard's finger resting loosely on the trigger.

His older partner rolled his eyes a second time. "Yours too, sweetheart." He dipped his head at Anna.

"What...?" Anna answered his look with one filled with puzzlement. In the next instant, her posture changed to understanding and she spread her hands. "I don't have a gun."

Pushing his baseball cap to the back of his head, the guard raised his brows. "That so?" He considered Anna as if weighing the truth of her words, casting a sharp look briefly in Jake's direction. It made Jake think he was at fault. He answered glare for glare; these two were starting to get on his nerves and he wanted to get on with the business they'd come for and get out of here.

Besides, guns weren't exactly lying by the roadside. Anna had taken a great risk to steal them the Beretta. And she wasn't as helpless as the guards thought: she was carrying the pocket knife that Jake was careful to keep honed sharp.

The younger guard guffawed a hoarse laugh. "Mebbe we should make sure you're tellin' the truth, darlin'." He licked his lips, and winked.

Seriously regretting giving them the Beretta, Jake moved to put himself between the jackass and Anna, standing so close that the tip of the man's shotgun brushed the material of his jacket. "She said she's not carrying a weapon," Jake snarled through clenched teeth. He had an inch or two on the guy, but he was unarmed and he tried hard not to show his anxiety as he stared back. It was a contest of wills, and if the man wanted to have this fight, Jake'd be screwed.

"C'mon, Barry." The elder of the pair hoisted the shotgun he'd been holding loosely across his chest onto his shoulder and gestured for his companion to do the same. "Cut the lady some slack." He stepped back, flapping a hand at Jake and Anna to wave them through. "You two register at the barn over there. They can tell ya who to ask for whatever ya need, too."

His companion held Jake's gaze for a few seconds longer to make his point, sniffed once and lowered his shotgun. Reaching behind him, Jake grabbed Anna's hand and quickly tugged her after him, past the men and through the fence. The jerk continued to glower darkly from under pulled-down brows as they passed, but he didn't stop them.

They easily found the barn the older guard had talked about: sitting at the heart of the compound, it was the only solid building in the place. Jake supposed it must've been built long before the bombs and, as the local traders flocked to it, the rest of the trading post had sprung up around it. People were coming and going through the double doors, some carrying bundles of goods, others empty-handed.

Next to the doors, a huge blackboard, that had once belonged in a classroom, was nailed to the wall. Moving closer, Jake saw every inch was filled with local news and gossip. He made a mental note to examine it carefully before they left; even if it was all hearsay and rumors, it might give them an idea of what to expect on the journey ahead.

"All those people." Anna's voice held wonder, and perhaps a hint of disquiet, as she peered around. Jake couldn't fault her the nervousness: they'd spent weeks walking through an empty landscape, not seeing a soul, until, without a great deal of warning, they were surrounded. Even to Jake, the crowd felt overwhelmingly large, though in reality, it could only have been a hundred people or so, scattered among the structures. With the bustle around the various stalls selling all sorts of goods―from second-hand clothes to antiques to food―the whole place resembled a farm town on market day.

"Let's see what's what." He led Anna into the barn, which smelled faintly of manure and hay, though the livestock in the stalls had been replaced with stacks of cardboard boxes and wooden crates, the stall doors locked to keep unauthorized customers from getting to them. A few low-wattage light bulbs were hanging from the rafters, trying hard to chase off the gloom―if he concentrated, Jake could detect the low hum of a generator underneath the buzzing of voices.

They drew eyes as they walked in and Jake came to the uncomfortable realization that Anna was one of very few women at the compound. She held herself stiffly, evidently aware of the stir she was causing, though he supposed that, as a bartender, she was better than most at ignoring that kind of scrutiny. It'd still be best if they got away from the trading post as soon as possible, though. The back of his neck was prickling as he considered all the things that could go wrong.

A rough voice barking, "Names?" interrupted Jake from urging Anna again to stay close. The order came from a stubbled clerk with a clipboard. Judging by his weathered tan, the man had likely been a stable-hand before the bombs, not a pencil pusher. When Jake wondered aloud what would be the point of signing in visitors, he gave a bored shrug. "Dunno. Mr. Thornton's orders. He runs the place; I just do as I'm told."

Shaking off his curiosity―what did it matter, anyway―Jake gave the clerk a couple of fake names. Watching as the man wrote them down, Jake suppressed a smile. Probably hadn't needed to give him false names; he doubted anyone would be able to read the clerk's chicken scrawl.

"Now, would you be needin' a stall?" The clerk tucked his clipboard under his elbow and scratched the back of his neck.

"Huh?" Jake blinked, clueless as to what the man meant.

"A stall," the clerk repeated with a put-out sigh, clarifying, "For business'. Ya can rent 'em by the hour, or for the day."

"I see." Jake realized the clerk thought they were here to sell goods. "No, thanks. We're just hoping to stock up on stuff."

"Maybe you can help us," Anna added, stepping up next to Jake. "We're looking for―." But the clerk had lost interest in them the instant Jake had made it clear he couldn't earn anything off of them and walked off in the direction of a man unlocking the padlock on one of the stalls. Anna gave voice to her annoyance with a soft grunt. "Guess we're on our own."

Jake quirked a wry grin. "Guess so." He looked around, wondering where to start, and saw a second board tacked to the back wall. It held two columns: one titled _On offer_, the other _Wanted_. "Let's take a look over there." He pointed out the board.

The _Wanted_ list turned out to be far shorter than the eclectic mix of items offered for trade. Morphine, diesel and gas were all in high demand―as was salt. Jake goggled at the word, his mind racing. Jericho had the Anderson-Stevens mine... Would his father know Jericho was sitting on a virtual pot of gold in this new world?

Yes, he would, Jake answered his own question. As mayor, Dad seemed to know every obscure detail of the town's history and its economy. He'd be aware how valuable salt would be. Besides, it made sense, salt being a natural preservative. And hadn't it been used as currency in the past?

"Jake?" Anna tugged on his sleeve, her quiet question drawing him from his thoughts. "How're we gonna pay for the supplements? If we find any, I mean."

It was a good question. The dollar bills at the bottom of his backpack, all that remained of the San Diego stash, would be worth less than the paper they'd been printed on. Only deeply ingrained habit had made it impossible for Jake to throw the money out. Same way he was still carrying his bank cards in his wallet.

"We'll trade for it."

"With what? We don't have anything."

He grunted in annoyance; he should've thought of that earlier. "We'll figure something out." He briefly considered the _Wanted_ list again, mentally comparing it to what they were carrying around in their backpacks. They could probably trade for a few bags of the instant food, if―. Jake mentally smacked himself. "The radio," he said, keeping his voice low. "I took two of them." He hadn't consciously been thinking they could trade one of the transistors when he'd grabbed a spare, but he was doubly glad he'd thought to take a second one.

Thinking about the radio brought back other memories. Memories of a quiet night by a small river stream, with the music from a distant Mexican station drifting over them and―. Jake squashed the memory and hoped Anna wouldn't notice the blush he was sure had settled on his face.

He peered at her from under his lashes. She wasn't meeting his eye this time. _Dammit_. So much for her not understanding what track his thoughts had taken. He cleared his throat. Best pretend that kiss had never happened. "We can trade for one of those," he went on. "The batteries too, if need be." He figured either should be valuable to a black market trader. Certainly worth enough to swap for some vitamin tablets.

"Okay." Anna's voice was hardly more than a whisper and she wasn't looking at him. Jake had no clue what she was thinking and he figured he didn't want to know.

After another moment of awkward silence, he turned away from the board. "Let's try to find a trader who has what we need."

o0o

They asked the nearby stallholders for suggestions, until they were told to go see a trader running a booth in the gaggle of kiosks that had been set up on the north side of the barn. Hunching into the cold wind that came blasting down the alley between the stalls, Jake and Anna made their way to the fourth stall up from the barn. The trader manning it, a small, portly man with a balding head, was huddled in the shadow of the canvas awning. He looked them up and down in leery scrutiny while Jake asked if he had any supplements.

"Might be as I have some," the trader grunted in confirmation. "It'll cost ya, though." Eyes narrowing, he took in their backpacks. His brows drew together . "You got anythin' to trade? 'Cause I ain't runnin' a charity here." He spat into the dirt.

Jake's temper rose at the man's attitude but he did his best to swallow his irritation. He wasn't here to make friends, just to get the trader to part with whatever vitamins he had, so they could get back on the road to Jericho. Despite his efforts, he couldn't keep the sharpness from his tone, "We don't want―."

"Jake." Anna put a hand on his arm, her touch barely noticeable through the many layers he was wearing. "Let me?"

Glancing down at her, Jake gave her a doubtful look, to which she smiled briefly. Jake relaxed; she'd dealt expertly with the frightened bookseller the day after the bombs, and he couldn't count the times he'd watched her handle drunk fratboys in San Diego. She was right; she was better suited to barter with the surly trader than he was.

"Alright, sure." He took a pace away, allowing her to join the trader under the awning out of the wind, and took in his surroundings. They were within sight of the news boards he'd glimpsed earlier. If he read those while Anna was bartering, they could kill two birds with one stone and get out of here all the sooner.

He nudged Anna lightly to get her attention and waved toward the big blackboard. "I'm gonna be over there, okay? Catch up on the news." She grinned at the way he'd phrased it, and he quirked up his mouth. It did sound funny. His grin melted back into earnestness. "Stay within sight, okay?"

Reaching the barn, Jake glanced across his shoulder, confirming he could still see Anna. Shaded by the awning, she was gesturing briskly at the trader, who was shaking his head in response. Looked like the merchant wasn't going to come around as easily as she'd hoped. Chuckling, Jake went back to scanning the chalky handwriting on the blackboard.

In local news, a road gang had been spotted on Route 64 toward Buffalo—further east than they planned to travel, so the gang shouldn't pose a problem for them. The weather forecast was predicting snow. Not a surprise; Jake could smell it in the air. He dearly wished winter would've held off a short time longer, until they were closer to Jericho.

Twisting his head, he snuck another glimpse toward the booth. Anna must've sensed his gaze, because she raised her face and briefly met his eyes. She inclined her head a fraction at him, and he assumed it meant she was making progress with the negotiations. Leaving her to handle it, Jake went back to skimming the second column of news and gossip.

The aid drop they'd witnessed hadn't been the only one: there were reports of support goods being flown in from a number of different countries: China, Sweden, Australia... On the other hand, Mexico had closed its borders to refugees. And it was something to know the number of contenders for the presidency hadn't gone up further than the six Welsh had mentioned. Even so, Jake walked away from the board in disgust; he'd read all he could stomach and they needed to get back on the road. If Anna wasn't done dealing with the trader yet, perhaps it was time he added his weight and put some pressure on the guy.

"Mister, gotta light?" A filthy teenager peered up at him, waving a tattered cigarette around. The boy was perhaps thirteen, his eyes huge in a too-thin face.

Jake frowned at the kid. "Aren't you a little young―Hey!" A small hand was trying to worm into his jeans pocket. Jake quickly clamped his fingers over it and the owner of the hand squeaked in surprise, vainly trying to pull loose. Holding on to the pickpocket's wrist, Jake saw the thief was younger than the first boy, his features betraying that they were related. Brothers, most likely, the older to distract the mark while the younger picked his pocket.

Jake checked with his free hand for the token that would get him back the Beretta. It was still in his pocket: he'd captured the thief before the kid could grab it. And everything else was stashed in the inside pockets of his jacket, safely out of a pickpocket's reach.

Jake glared at the pair, conflicted. What was he supposed to do with them? Turn them over to what passed for the police here? The boys both stared back at Jake, pale with fear. They would've seen the warnings signposted all over the compound describing the punishments for thieves.

"Please, mister," the elder of the two boys pleaded, his voice shaking, his gaze shifting desperately from Jake to his brother and back. Jake had to give him credit: he hadn't run off when Jake had grabbed his little brother. The younger boy sniffed back tears, his small hand lying cold and limp in Jake's grip.

Jake sighed and let go of the brothers sprinted off without so much as a thank-you, disappearing into the crowd. Perhaps he should've given them a warning, but from the appearance of the pair, he doubted they'd have taken any notice; they had been half-starved to death.

Puffing up his cheeks in exasperation, feeling both sorry for the boys and angry at the circumstances that forced kids to become pickpockets, he started for the trader's stall. Time to get Anna and―. Jake's train of thought stalled abruptly when his gaze landed on the stall. It was empty, the gloomy area under the awning deserted. No sign of either Anna or the trader. Dammit! He'd told her repeatedly to stay in sight! _But he hadn't been watching, had he?_ a small voice whispered in the back of his mind.

His heart hammered in his chest as he quickly closed the final yards to the stall. The heavy backpack thumped painfully on his shoulders and he barely heard the protests as he bumped against people in his haste. He couldn't care less. Anna had simply walked deeper into the structure, he told himself over and over. He'd find her and the trader inside, taking shelter from the wind. Wouldn't he?

o0o


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Reaching the booth, its canvas flapping in the wind, Jake swerved inside, stumbling into the shadows under the awning.

"Hey! Watch where ya goin'!"

At the indignant shout, Jake skittered to a halt, realizing he'd almost run smack into the surly trader. Ignoring the man's scowl, he peered past him, quickly scanning the small area under the awning. Boxes had been stacked high deeper in the shadows and a curtain partitioned off the rear section of the structure. He saw no sign of Anna; the trader was alone. He shot the man a sharp glare. "Where is she?"

With a snort, the short trader craned his neck, Jake's anxious tone not fazing him. "Was about to ask you the same thing." He showed Jake a small brown bottle. It was half-full with white pills. "Told me she was lookin' for these, so I went in back to get 'em for her. I come out, she ain't 'ere."

Reflexively, Jake reached for the bottle. "Oi!" The trader quickly snatched it out of his reach. "I ain't been paid yet. Promised me a working transistor for these pills, that was the deal."

Jake mentally smacked himself. Of course Anna hadn't been able to carry out the actual trade: Jake had the radios in his pack. If Anna had reached an agreement with the merchant, she'd have come get Jake, to ask him to hand over the radio. Had they simply missed each other? He wasn't sure how he could have, but it was surely the only possible explanation.

Taking deep breaths to hold back the panic that threatened to rise like bile in his throat, Jake stepped out from under the awning and scanned the people strolling past or milling around in front of the news board, telling himself he'd spot her any second now. But no matter how hard he looked, he saw no sign of Anna. Where could she have gone? And why?

"D'you want these, or don't ya?"

Jake ignored the bottle of supplements being shoved in his face, no longer caring about the pills. "Where did she go?"

The merchant scrubbed a palm over his balding pate and shrugged unconcernedly. "How should I know?" He smirked briefly. "Mebbe she needed to hit the head?" His expression turned sour again. "So, do we have a deal or not?"

"Come _on_." Jake struggled not to shout. "You must know _something_." Anna wouldn't have walked off without telling Jake. She was smarter than that. "Did she say anything where she was going?"

"No, she didn't." The merchant glowered. "I'm tellin' ya, she was here, we cut a deal, I go to get the broad her pills. Next thing I know, she's gone, and you come stormin' in here, makin' like _I'm_ supposed to watch _your_ woman."

Jake's hands balled into fists from sheer frustration and he struggled not to hit the man. It was obvious this jerk didn't care one whit for Jake's panic or Anna's fate and didn't intend to be of any help at all. Perhaps he―. Jake had a sudden vision of Anna lying unconscious and bound behind the curtain dividing the back of the booth from the front. He shoved the spluttering merchant aside. "Anna?" Jake hurried toward the curtain. "Anna!"

"Hey! That area's off-limits." The merchant snatched at Jake's sleeve.

Jake shook him off. Ripping aside the curtain, he saw―stacks of cardboard boxes, stenciled with Chinese letters. No sign of Anna.

"Dammit, dude, I keep tellin' ya. She ain't here." The merchant set the bottle of pills down on the rough-hewn wood counter and flapped a hand at Jake. "And if you don't wanna trade, you gotta go. Before someone calls security. That's trouble I don't need."

Glancing past the merchant, Jake discovered a small crowd had gathered, craning their necks to peer into the stall and see what was going on. Ignoring them, he hauled the dealer close by the collar. Not expecting it, the guy squeaked in surprise, and, perhaps, a little fright. "You should've thought of that before―."

"Hey, buddy, take it easy." A heavy hand landed on Jake's shoulder.

Letting go of the merchant, Jake whirled around to face the newcomer. Steely-blue eyes met his.

"You're not gonna be of help to your lady friend if you get yourself in trouble with security," the new arrival cautioned. He shifted his grip from Jake's shoulder to his elbow. Though he held Jake lightly, Jake could feel the hidden strength in the man's grip. "She's clearly not here. Why don't we step outside, so you can calm down and figure out what to do next."

Jake opened his mouth, wanting to argue, wanting to―. He rolled his neck to clear his mind from the red haze of fear and anger. Whoever this guy was, he was right: getting into a scrap with the trader and getting tossed from the trading grounds wasn't gonna help him find Anna any sooner. Better to ask around. Perhaps he could find someone who'd seen what happened.

Wordlessly, he allowed the man to steer him out of the booth, ignoring the indignant huff of the merchant behind him. Once he'd walked into the cold wind, he sucked in a lungful of air in an effort to keep his mind off the message that was on constant repeat: _Must find Anna. _As pressing as the desire to act was, he needed to think first. No use going off half-cocked.

"Okay, folks, show's over." The stranger waved his arms to chase off the crowd. "Nothing to see here."

Muttering amongst themselves, people wandered off. Jake watched them go, not really seeing them. Perhaps he should go talk to security after all; they were supposed to be the law around here, weren't they? They would know something.

"You okay?"

Jake blinked, finding himself alone with the stranger. The crowd was gone; the trader had disappeared, presumably behind the curtain at the back of his booth. "Yeah," he croaked.

"So, the woman who's gone missing?" The man scratched his neck. "That the pretty Latina you were with?"

Jake stiffened, his jaw tightening. "What do you know about her?"

"Nothing that'd help you." The other man met Jake's gaze directly and without a hint of dishonesty. "Saw you and her walk around, earlier, is all. Why did you―?" He gave a curt shake of his head and stuffed his hands under his armpits against the cold. "Never mind that."

He didn't need to finish for Jake to know what he'd wanted to ask. It was the same question Jake had been asking himself ever since he'd come back to the merchant's stall and discovered Anna was gone. Why had he left her? Why hadn't he stayed with her?

He dragged more of the freezing air into his lungs, relishing the burn of the cold; plenty of time for recriminations after he'd tracked Anna down. He was dimly aware that the temperature had dropped several degrees since they had arrived at the trading post―another factor ratcheting up his concern for her. "I should―." He gestured vaguely toward the main entrance.

"Good idea." The other man dipped his head. "I'll walk with you."

Jake didn't have a clue why the stranger was bothering to come along, yet he couldn't say he objected to the company. There was something reassuring about the guy, as if he was confident everything would work out, no matter what.

"I'm Jake," he offered without thinking, hunching his shoulders against the wind while he started for the main gate.

"Chavez." The other man fell in step with Jake.

Jake shot a disbelieving glance sideways, failing to hide his skepticism as he took in the blond hair and blue eyes.

Chavez quirked an amused eyebrow at him. "What?"

Jake snorted. "You don't look like a Chavez."

Chavez chuckled. "I get that a lot."

Several stalls further on, a tall man stepped out from one of the other booths and made a beeline for them. He wore a frayed coat and a knitted scarf around a thin neck. Jake caught a whiff of something unpleasant; the guy obviously didn't hold soap in high regard. Jake hurried on. He wasn't interested in whatever the trader wanted to sell him.

"You the one lookin' for that girl?" The trader's words stopped Jake dead in his tracks.

Hope flaring, Jake eagerly leaned in, ignoring the smell. "You've seen her? Do you know where she went?"

The skinny merchant gestured vaguely with a mittened hand. "Saw her walk off with some guys."

"What?" That made no sense. Anna wouldn't go off with strangers. And something in the guy's tone told Jake there was more to the story than he was saying. It took an effort not to grab him by his scarf and wring the information out of him. "What guys? Where?" _Why?_

The trader hung his head and shook it, sadly. "She's gone, man."

"Problem?" a voice asked sharply from behind Jake. The trader's gaze shifted to somewhere beyond Jake's shoulder.

Jake turned on his heel. In his peripheral vision, he saw Chavez doing the same. A pair of armed guards were ambling up to them, their hands resting lightly on the stocks of their weapons. Jake recognized one of them as the older of the pair who'd been on duty at the entrance.

"Yes," Jake snarled at them, his temper so frayed it finally snapped. "My wife's gone missing, and nobody wants to tell me what the hell's going on here!"

The older guard frowned at him. "Your wife's the girl you came in with?"

"Yes! And this sonofabitch," Jake groped blindly behind him, snatching a fistful of woolen muffler, "knows something." He dragged the skinny merchant forward, pushing him toward the guards. "But he won't tell me what."

"Hey!" the merchant protested and tugged his scarf back in place. "Try doing a guy a favor..."

The second guard unshipped his gun from his shoulder and took a step back to give himself space to aim it.

"Jake," Chavez warned quietly. But Jake no longer cared what happened to him. He was done being jerked around by these people while Anna could be suffering untold misery.

"Whoa, easy now." The first guard held out his hands placatingly, preventing his companion from raising his shotgun. "Let's all keep cool, alright? So―Applewhite, innit?" He addressed the merchant, who bobbed his head in confirmation. "What's this about a missing wife and you knowin' about it?"

The scrawny merchant drew up his narrow shoulders. "C'mon, Karl. You know what it's like."

Karl scratched at his skull under the baseball cap and shook his head. "What what's like?"

Applewhite heaved an aggravated sigh, as if he was regretting getting involved or having to provide an explanation. The gesture made him resemble an undertaker even more than his gaunt appearance already did. "Good-looking girl, left on her own? Around here?" He pursed his lips, adding half under his breath, "And her Hispanic, too."

"What's that supposed to mean?" This time, it was Chavez' turn to ask.

Karl ignored Chavez. His brows drew together in a frown. "McCuskey's guys?" he asked softly, evidently catching on to what the trader wasn't saying.

Applewhite nodded morosely.

"Goddammit," Karl swore. The other guard let out a noise that Jake couldn't place.

"Who's McCuskey?" Jake didn't like the tone of the conversation or the direction it was taking. If he hadn't already been sick with worry about Anna, he certainly would have been by now.

Karl puffed out his cheeks and released a long sigh, his breath fogging in the cold. He adjusted his baseball cap. "C'mon." He jerked his head toward the compound's entrance. "Maybe they haven't left yet." He set off at a half-trot.

Jogging to catch up with the guard, Jake grabbed Karl's sleeve. "You haven't answered my question. Who the hell's McCuskey, and what does he want with Anna?"

Karl snuck Jake a sideways glance, quickly averting his eyes when they met Jake's. It only served to increase Jake's discomfort. "Let's say he deals in cheap labor." Karl sounded unhappy.

"Huh?" Jake felt as if he was constantly one step behind everyone else. "Like a job bank?"

"No." Chavez had been following them at a trot. "He's talking about slavery. Am I right?" Though he spoke calmly, Chavez' tone held a hint of suppressed fury that made Jake very glad Chavez was in his corner.

"Come again?" Jake was shocked enough to pull up to a full stop. As it was, they weren't far from the main entrance and he could see out into the field where the trucks and carts were parked.

"Dammit. They're gone." Karl was gazing out across the field; the number of pickup trucks parked there had lessened considerably. Among the vehicles that were no longer there was the old red-and-white Ford, the one with the Confederate flag flying from it.

Icy tendrils tickled Jake's insides and a shiver ran down along his back, and neither came from the wind howling unhindered across the empty landscape. "Oh God," he whispered.

Shoulders hunched up to his ears, Karl met Jake's eyes briefly, before his gaze skittered away, but Jake still caught the sympathy in his expression. It didn't improve his mood any―in fact, it made him feel worse.

Karl's voice was soft as he asked, "You're not really married to the girl, or anything, are you?"

Jake blinked, startled. It wasn't at all what he'd expected the guard to say. "Um..."

Karl dipped his head toward Jake's clenched hands. "No ring."

"Right." Struggling to hold on to his last shred of self-control, Jake shook his head. "No," he admitted. A memory flashed through his brain: of a cold evening, a campfire, the music from the radio, and―he shoved the recollection away, concentrating instead on explaining the matter to Karl. "It was a good story to use on the road. Safer." He uncurled a fist and scrubbed his palm across his face. That plan had worked out so great, too. "What's that got to do with it, anyway?"

"Just―." Karl paused. "Thought it'd make it easier. As you're probably better off forgettin' her."

"What?" Jake must've misheard. What sort of man would do that? Sure, Anna wasn't his wife, but she was his friend, and he'd be damned if he let those bastards who took her―Jake's mind shied away from the terrible things his imagination wanted to come up with. No longer able to contain himself, he clutched Karl's shoulders and struggled not to shout in the man's face as he asked, "Why would you even say that?"

Karl didn't resist as Jake shook him. He just hung his head regretfully. "She's gone, man. Forget her."

"No, dammit." Jake refused to accept that for the truth, no matter what Karl might say. He'd get Anna back. Somehow. "Tell me where they took her," he hissed, giving Karl another violent shake.

This time, the man did pull free of Jake's grip. "Springfield." He flicked a hand in the direction of the dirt track Jake and Anna had walked in on. "'Bout two miles west of the crossroads."

Jake was ready to start loping off in the direction Karl had pointed, but a hand grabbed him by the elbow. "Whoa there. Not so fast." Chavez' fingers were clamped tightly around Jake, preventing him from taking off.

Jake gave a start; in his haste to find out what happened to Anna, he'd totally forgotten Chavez. Not that it mattered. He yanked his arm, failing to break free. "Let go of me."

Chavez held on, his grip tightening. "Jake, don't be an idiot. If you go after them like this, you'll end up dead." His voice was low, insistent.

"Don't care," Jake snarled, refusing to acknowledge the ribbon of dread that slithered through him. He wasn't gonna give up on Anna. He'd made a promise, once. And even if he hadn't, he still wouldn't abandon her to whatever fate her kidnappers had in store for her.

Chavez' grip remained firm and Jake swung up his other hand, planning to lay in on the other man until he let go. But he wasn't well-balanced and too much in a panic and his stroke was clumsy. Chavez easily deflected it, snatching Jake's other wrist with his free hand.

"And what do you think happens to the girl then? Jake, you gotta be smart about this." Chavez lifted an eyebrow. "Are you even armed?"

"I'm―." Chavez' words finally filtered through the white haze of panic and fear that held Jake in its claws. He slumped. "No." The Beretta was stored in the guardhouse and he was going to need that gun. How else would he break Anna free? Lob transistor radios at the slavers? But―. "I got to get her back." His whispered words hitched with desperation.

"Of course you do." Assured Jake was no longer going to hare off and do something stupid, Chavez let go of him. Jake rubbed at his wrist as Chavez regarded Karl. Surprisingly, the guard was still there, watching them, his countenance reflecting his earlier sympathy. "What do you know about this crew?" Chavez leaned forward on the balls of his feet ever so slightly.

"I don't―." Karl swallowed, hard, and darted a quick look around, as if wondering why he hadn't backed out when he had the chance. Tilting his head to indicate they should follow him, he walked a few measured paces away from the main gate, so they were out of earshot of any casual passer-by. He scratched under the baseball cap absently while he collected his thoughts. Jake waited impatiently "McCuskey's the leader." Karl spoke quietly. "Used to be a wheat farmer, owns the biggest farm in the area. After the attacks, in the chaos that followed..." Karl spat in the dirt. "He saw his chance."

Jake frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"At first, nothin'. Usual crazy stuff. Talkin' about secession, settin' up a new confederate state." Karl fell silent, watching a quartet of unshaven men in winter coats stomping past and out through the gate. As they walked toward one of the horse-drawn carts, he went on, "Then he threw out the mayor. Brought in some of his out-of-state buddies. Unpleasant lot. Next, I heard it said he had the sheriff murdered." Karl paused a second time, his gaze shifting from Jake to Chavez and back, as if confirming something, before he added in an even lower tone, "Now it's white folks at the top, and everyone else..." He gave another shake of the head. "They been terrorizin' these parts ever since." He adjusted the shotgun dangling from his shoulder nervously. "Snappin' people up left 'n right. People who speak out against 'em, or people―like your friend."

"Hispanics," Chavez filled in for Karl, his voice hard.

"Blacks, too," Karl added. "New immigrants from down south, mostly, but also folk who've been neighbors for decades. Nobody knows fer sure what's done with them, but―." He broke off and huffed a humorless laugh. "Guess he saw an opportunity to make a buck."

"And nobody tries to stop them?" Jake had been aware things were bad, with the road gangs and the looting. But slavery? That was a whole new level of messed up.

Karl uttered a rueful sound. "Took a while for people to catch on, at first. 'Bout a month ago, some folks decided they'd had enough." He swallowed. "They're either dead, or gone. Since then, those assholes can pretty much do as they please." He glanced up at Jake from under his lashes, before scuffing at a clump of grass with his toe. "Folk learned quickly how to be invisible."

"You know an awful lot about this bunch." Chavez' tone was light, as if they were talking football and not human trafficking.

"I hear things, round here," Karl explained, "and—." Jake saw how Karl's gaze met Chavez' and he paled visibly. "Hey, man, you don't think I―." He spread his hands and went on in a quiet voice, "I hate what they're doin'. But I got a wife and a couple kids to think about." He again sought out Jake rather than Chavez. "I'm sorry, I shoulda said somethin' when you came in."

"Damned right you should've." Jake couldn't muster the energy to be angry with Karl. If he'd known, if Karl had warned them, he'd never have let Anna out of his sight. Heck, they'd have turned around right there and then, and those vitamins be damned. Wasn't worth risking their lives over. _Anna's life_, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, adding to his burning need to find her. He combed his fingers through his hair, clamping down on the renewed urge to sprint off toward Springfield. "How many?"

"Come again?" Karl gave him a confused look.

"How many men has McCuskey got?" Jake clarified.

"Dunno." A shrug. "Depends. I reckon there's a couple dozen in McCuskey's crew, total, but they move around the county all the time."

Jake blew out a frustrated grunt. Even if Karl was right and he got lucky and a large segment of the gang were away from their base, he could end up facing anything from one or two to a dozen of the bastards. With one Beretta and a handful of bullets. Those had to be the suckiest odds he'd ever faced. Yet, even so, there wasn't a single part of Jake that considered not going after them. He had to try; he simply couldn't leave Anna in their hands.

He looked up at the sky. It had grown noticeably darker since he and Anna had arrived at the trading post: the snow storm he'd sensed coming was going to break any minute. And he had no time to lose: every minute he lingered here was another minute those bastards could do God knows what to Anna. He dug the token from his pocket and shoved it at Karl. "Just give me back my gun."

Karl didn't immediately take the token. "Think about it, son," he cautioned. "What're you gonna do? You can't take on that whole damned crew. Not on your own."

"He won't be on his own." This time, there was nothing light about Chavez' low tone as he also held out a token.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake asked as Karl accepted both tokens without another word and set off toward the small guardhouse.

"Means I'm coming with." Chavez' blue eyes were hard, and his jaw was tight, and Jake sensed the determination coming off of him. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted Chavez as an enemy.

"Why?" While Jake was glad of the backup, he hadn't laid eyes on the guy until fifteen minutes ago. Why would Chavez want to risk his life for complete strangers?

Chavez shrugged, and some of the tension left his body. "Country's bad enough as it is. Don't need asshats like this McCuskey making things worse."

Karl returned with their weapons. He gave the Beretta to Jake, and handed Chavez another semi-automatic. "You two actually gonna do this? Good luck." From Karl's tone, it was clear he didn't expect them to make it out alive. Considering the odds, Jake wasn't too certain, either.

"Thanks." Jake slipped the magazine out of the Beretta and checked it, before sliding it back in and stashing the gun under his jacket in his belt. From the metallic noises coming from Chavez' direction, he was also checking his gun hadn't been messed with and was fully loaded. "But I got no choice. I'm not leaving her."

o0o

The first snow flakes started drifting down mere minutes after Jake and Chavez had set out to Springfield. Unaware he was doing so, Jake picked up his pace, until Chavez tapped his shoulder to draw his attention.

"Slow down, man. Gotta pace ourselves."

Jake shot him a surprised look―the guy wasn't even breathing hard―but took his advice and slowed to a steady jog, the backpack bouncing lightly on his shoulders. Much as he might want to run as fast as he could, Chavez was right: it wouldn't do any good if he ran himself into the ground before they found out where McCuskey's goons had taken Anna.

In an attempt to keep his speed steady, he tried to concentrate on what they were facing. How would they discover the location where Anna was being held? How many guards would there be? And what could the two of them do against the greater numbers they'd undoubtedly find? His brain refused to cooperate, returning over and over to what might be happening to Anna instead. Terrible scenarios played out in his head: rape, murder, torture... God knows what those bastards would do to her.

"She'll be okay for a while."

It was as if Chavez was reading his mind. "How did you know―?"

"Blind man could see what you're thinking." Chavez grinned humorlessly. His expression sobering, he answered the next question on Jake's lips. "If that fellow," he pointed with a thumb back across his shoulder in the direction of the trading post, "is right, they won't harm her."

Jake scowled. He wanted to believe it, he really did, but he had no illusions about what criminals such as the thugs who took Anna would do to a helpless woman, especially if they thought they could get away with it.

"No, I'm serious." Chavez quickened his pace until he pulled ahead of Jake and was able to look back at him. "They'll want to make a good price for her. And they won't get that if if they damage the goods." Chavez' mouth twisted as if he'd tasted something foul, and a shiver ran down Jake's spine at the implications. Chavez' words made sense, though, and Jake's spirits lifted a little. Perhaps there was still time.

Assuming Anna didn't give her captors any trouble... Jake's brief hope fluttered away as he huffed inwardly, half smug and half disheartened. Not much chance of that. Anna wasn't gonna take crap from anyone. The way she'd taken the shot at the road gang―she'd been scared out of her mind, and she'd done it anyway. Or how she'd reacted to Jackson Welch, before they had any idea if he was good people or not. No, Anna wasn't going to go down without a fight. He suspected they'd threatened her at gunpoint to get her to come with them as quietly as she had.

Twenty minutes later, he and Chavez reached the crossroads and paused to catch their breath. The wind had picked up further and the snow was falling more heavily, leaving a thin layer of white on the ground and thicker patches where the wind wasn't scouring it away as strongly. Above them, the sky was an unbroken sheet of lead, rapidly growing darker as night fell. "We should keep going," Jake urged. They had another two miles to go before they reached the town.

Chavez grunted his assent and trotted on. Jake shifted his heavy backpack into a more comfortable position and followed. As he jogged on through the snow, his feet pounding in a hypnotic rhythm, he turned his mind back to what they should do when they got to Springfield. He didn't have much idea what they'd find beyond what Karl had told them, and they could hardly march into town and simply demand McCuskey hand Anna over to them.

Chavez slowing down finally dragged Jake out of the half-numbed state he'd fallen into. "What is it?"

"Nearly there." Chavez pointed out a town sign next to the track. _Welcome to Springfield_. It had been used for target practice and was riddled with bullet holes. Jake could just make out the words, despite the gloom.

"So, let's―." Jake began to speed up again, but Chavez snatched at his sleeve.

"Hold on a second, Jake."

Jake gritted his teeth in frustration as he yanked free of Chavez' grip. "What is it now?" he demanded.

"We need to be smart about this." It wasn't the first time Chavez had brought it up and it was beginning to chafe on Jake's nerves. He wasn't a fool, dammit.

"I get that."

"Do you? Really?" Chavez' gaze bored into Jake's. "Cause before we get there, I need to know you're not gonna do anything harebrained. I understand you're worried about your girl, but we can't walk in there and simply start tearing up the place."

Jake shot another impatient look in the direction of the town. He couldn't see any evidence of it yet beyond the sign. "I know. And her name is Anna."

"Okay." Chavez gave a curt nod of acceptance. "Anna." Again, he pinned Jake with his gaze. "We'll find her, okay? I promise. Just follow my lead."

Despite his concern for Anna, Jake's instinctive reaction to Chavez assuming command was to put his back up. Chavez carried on holding his gaze. What Jake saw in Chavez' eyes made the protest die on his lips. "Okay."

"Then let's go, and see what we can find out."

"Who _are_ you?" Jake muttered under his breath as Chavez jogged off.

The wind carried his words further than he'd intended. Chavez chuckled "A concerned citizen of the United States, is all," he shot back across his shoulder.

o0o

They walked into Springfield proper before they were aware of it. With no street lights, the only indication they'd reached the town were the bulky, square shapes of unlit buildings suddenly popping up around them, half-veiled by the falling snow. Chavez veered off into the shadows of the nearest building and crouched next to it.

"What―?" Jake began as he knelt next to Chavez.

"Keep your voice down."

Jake snapped his mouth shut, shamefaced. The snow and wind would mute any noise they made, but sound would carry easily in the night. Especially in such a quiet town. Until they'd figured out what they were walking into, they needed to take every precaution possible.

Glancing around, Jake took better stock of their surroundings. The streets were empty, though light was sneaking through cracks around the shutters at a handful of the houses. The rest of the buildings were dark, many of the windows broken. Jake suspected those homes had belonged to people whom McCuskey had deemed unwelcome in Springfield.

Suppressing a shiver that wasn't entirely due to the cold wind whipping in from the north, he checked that his Beretta was in easy reach. Chavez had also apparently finished his initial inspection: he flicked a hand at Jake, silently signaling they should move on.

The deserted streets made it easy to quickly check the empty buildings to see if Anna had been locked up in one of them. Unfortunately, Jake realized, as he retraced his steps down a snowy driveway, they were leaving clear tracks in the snow, which could easily give them away if anyone bothered to look. He wordlessly pointed his tracks out to Chavez. The other man shrugged. _Can't be helped_, that gesture said, and wasn't that the truth. Luckily, it was now snowing heavily, with flurries dancing before the wind and snow drifts building in sheltered corners, and their footsteps began to fill in even as Jake watched.

They continued their search, careful to not to disturb the snow any more than they had to and keeping tucked as closely to the buildings as they could. They reached what Jake guessed was Main Street. Boarded up store fronts lined the street; further on, he could see a church and a barber shop.

"Psst." Chavez' low hiss reached Jake. He jerked his head toward the church.

Jake waited, squinting around into the swirling snow, alert for any sign of life, while Chavez darted up the church steps and peered inside. Next, he circled the church, briefly disappearing from view, before popping back up around the other side of the building. He shook his head as he hurried back to Jake. _Not there._

They went on searching, but they reached the far end of Main Street without finding any sign of Anna. Blinking snowflakes from his lashes, Jake considered their situation, exchanging a look with Chavez. Would they have locked Anna up in any of the occupied houses? It was a possibility, of course, but not one he liked at all. He'd hoped―.

The wind fell off briefly, and a sudden burst of shouting and laughter rang out through the darkness, startling them both. Unsure where it had come from, they dove together behind the nearest snow-covered hump. Waiting with bated breath, afraid a plume of fogged breath might give them away otherwise, Jake realized the snow heap was actually a car. A recent model, resting on bare rims, with rust already setting in. The EMP would've fried all its circuits, so it had been stripped clean of any remaining useful parts.

Once the laughter had faded and they were certain the coast was clear, Chavez inched out of their hiding place. Jake let out the breath he'd been holding and got to his feet as well, brushing the snow from his jacket. Chavez pointed in the direction the laughter had come from. _Let's check it out._

Just as wordlessly, Jake nodded his agreement. Keeping his head low, staying in the deeper shadows close to the buildings, he snuck after Chavez, stepping in Chavez' footsteps as much as possible. Ducking around a corner onto a side street, they discovered the source of the ruckus: the local saloon was still in business. Jake huffed a silent, wry laugh. Of course it was.

Wavering light filtered through the windows,the unevenness of the glow telling Jake they were using candles or oil lamps. The place was packed, even so, if the low buzz of noise reaching them through the closed door was anything to go by. At least now they knew where everyone was. He doubted they'd brought Anna with them into the saloon and—at least, God, he hoped not!

Abruptly, an image of Anna on display on the bar popped into his brain, and Jake felt suddenly sick. Swallowing down bile, he dashed over to one of the windows before Chavez could grab him and hold him back. He needed to know.

Slowly raising himself up far enough to peek over the window sill, Jake scanned the interior of the bar. As he'd expected, it was crowded. Thankfully, he didn't see any sign of Anna. Lowering himself back down, he allowed him a sigh of relief. Then Chavez was on him.

"What the hell―?" Chavez hissed, his voice so low that only Jake would be able to hear him.

"Sorry," Jake muttered, recognizing the danger he'd put them in. If anyone came out of the saloon―.

Shaking his head, Chavez prodded Jake to get going, and they quickly scurried past the building and around the next corner, where a line of trucks were parked. Jake stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw clenched in anger. Smack in front of him, at a crooked angle to the snow-covered sidewalk, was one of the pickups he'd seen at the trading post.

"Jake?"

"This is their truck."

"You sure?" Chavez' voice was a warm whisper in Jake's ear.

Jake took another good look. Despite the darkness, he was certain: the confederate flag flapping from the car's roof in the wind and the White Pride bumper sticker, which stood out sharply in the faint light reflected from the snow, gave it away. It would be too great a coincidence for the owner of that truck not to be connected to what had happened to Anna. "Positive."

o0o

Jake's fingers were stiff from cold and he could no longer feel his hands. A muscle in his left calf threatened to cramp up and he tried to flex his foot to relieve the ache.

"Stay still," Chavez hissed.

Jake froze for a heartbeat, before slowly letting his hands creep further under his jacket, hoping Chavez would allow him at least that. His cold fingers came in contact with the warm skin of his belly and he shivered. Chavez was right: they shouldn't move. But he also needed to keep his hands warm or he'd be unable to even hold a gun when the time came. And right now, his own body heat was all he had available.

They'd been hiding in the back of the pickup for what seemed like an eternity, squashed together in a tight tangle of limbs. After checking out the cab for clues, they'd hurriedly discussed their options in short, terse sentences. From what Karl had told them, McCuskey's farm must be several miles out of town. As they hadn't been able to find any sign in town of where the thugs might've taken Anna, the odds were she was out at the farm.

Chavez had pointed to the back of the truck, where a filthy tarp had been squished into an untidy heap, half-covered with snow already. "Get in. Little luck, they take us right to her."

Jake had taken off his pack and crawled under the tarp. Chavez had followed, making sure the tarp covered them both before curling up next to Jake. Then they'd waited, not moving, while the snow slowly hid the tarp under a blanket of white. At least the covering kept the wind off of them, and Jake could feel the other man's body heat where his shoulder touched Chavez'. But the truck bed under his ass was freezing cold and the chill had slowly seeped through his clothes. If the owner of the truck didn't show up soon, they'd both turn into popsicles.

He tried to gauge how much time had passed. Minutes? Or hours? It was certainly long enough for his imagination to have time to start running wild again and for Jake to begin second-guessing Chavez' suggestion they get into the truck and let the slavers take them to their headquarters. Wouldn't they be better out searching? They hadn't checked every building in town yet. What if they were wrong and came too late? He had visions of Anna being bundled into a second truck and transported off to a horrible fate, out of his reach forever, while he froze his ass off hidden under a tarp that stank of mold.

"This is stupid," he muttered. He started to slide out from under their cover. Hiding in the pickup's bed had been a wild gamble to begin with, and he was acutely aware that what they were gambling with was Anna's life. Hers and the baby's.

"Wait." Chavez curled a hand around Jake's leg to prevent him from crawling any further. Before Jake could jerk free of Chavez' grip and throw the tarp off, a brief burst of sudden noise made him freeze. The noise meant the door to the bar had been opened and shut again. Wasn't the first time since they'd crawled into the truck. But were people going in or out?

Shuffling footsteps came their way, the snow muffling the sound. A man grumbled something, though Jake couldn't make out the words. An instant later, the truck rocked as whoever it was climbed behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him.

Jake let the tarp settle back over them as gently as he could and allowed his muscles to go slack.

The truck set off with a jolt. Lacking anything to grab onto, Jake and Chavez were tossed around like two sacks of potatoes as the car slid and bumped along the slippery road, and then turned and started down a country lane that was even rougher. Taking a chance, Jake shifted until he was facing forward on his stomach, and cautiously lifted the tarp a little so he could peer out. Next to him, he sensed Chavez doing the same.

The dice had been rolled and the choice was out of his hands. All Jake could do was hope and pray their gamble paid off and that they wouldn't arrive too late.

o0o


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

For a long time, Jake couldn't make out much beyond snowy fields gleaming whitely in the headlamps as they passed. Some fifteen minutes and five or six miles later, a pinpoint of light materialized on the horizon, barely visible in the driving snow. As the truck rumbled closer, Jake made out a farmhouse, with a barn and a couple of outbuildings outlined as square black shadows against the yellow glow spilling from the farmhouse windows.

His heart thudded against his ribs. Was this McCuskey's farm? Were they going to find Anna here?

As the compound grew nearer, Jake saw several shapes moving around in the yard. Guards, would be his guess.

Chavez' hand on his arm made him turn his head. Chavez pointed up with his chin toward the rear end of the truck. "Gotta jump."

Jake understood: they had to get out of the truck before it got too close or they'd be seen. He quickly slithered out from under the tarp, dragging his backpack with him. Chavez glanced back one last time, presumably to make sure the driver—who'd had more to drink than he should have, judging by the truck's meandering path along the track— was too occupied to notice anything going on behind him. "Go!" Chavez gave Jake a push.

Jake shoved the backpack off the truck and dropped from the edge. _Oomph_! His hope that a layer of snow would cushion his fall proved vain: he hit the road hard enough to force the air from his lungs and leave him breathless as he rolled, carried by his momentum. Gasping as the snow soaked into his jeans, he came to a stop, taking a precious few seconds to gather his breath and collect his wits.

"C'mon." Chavez dragged him off to the side of the road, scooping up Jake's backpack with his other hand. He propelled Jake into a ditch. "You up to this?" he asked, lowering his head to scan Jake's features. "Maybe you should sit―."

"Like hell," Jake snarled. He yanked the backpack out of Chavez' hands.

"Right." Chavez chuckled briefly, before pointing at the backpack. "You gotta leave that here."

Chavez was right. The backpack would only be a nuisance— but Jake didn't want to abandon it; its contents were too valuable to lose. After a moment's thought, he pushed it deeper into the ditch, covering it with handfuls of loose snow. Rooting around, he dug up a couple sticks to shove into the snow next to it , marking its location with a cross so it'd be easier to find later. As he checked the sticks were secure, he realized he no longer felt as cold; either adrenaline or the exercise had warmed him up.

While Jake was busy burying the pack, Chavez had crawled closer to the farm, aiming for an abandoned tractor at the edge of the yard. Keeping his head down, Jake scurried after him, following the ditch as far as he could and hoping the curtain of swirling snowflakes would hide him from the guards as he crossed out in the open. He let out a breath of relief once he'd joined Chavez and was flattening himself behind the tractor without raising an alarm.

Chavez was peering around one of the tractor's huge, airless tires. Jake wriggled so he could survey the yard from behind the other side of the wheel. He was surprised to find the truck's driver was only just tumbling from the cab.

"Jimbo, what'ch'all doin' out'ere?" the guy slurred, flailing an arm at the two men hovering in front of the barn, and at a third, who was stepping down from the porch and making a beeline for the truck. "Iz too goddam' col'."

"Your father's orders." Jimbo―the thug from the porch―hunched deeper inside his jacket. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulders and a woolen hat drawn down over his ears. The other two were similarly armed and bundled up. "He weren't too happy 'bout that piece of ass we snatched us in Gopher."

"Whyever the 'ell not?" The driver—evidently McCuskey's son—spat in the snow. "Bes' catch inna long time. Oughta bring inna shitload o' dough."

"If we can find someone wants 'er, Billy." Jimbo shrugged. "Boss ain't too convinced there's a market for knocked-up bitches."

Relief washed through Jake so strongly that he grew dizzy. They _had_ to be talking about Anna.

Chavez kicked Jake to get his attention._ She's pregnant?_ he mouthed silently, brows arched. Though he didn't actually add, _You didn't think to mention that?_ the wordless rebuke was evident in the way he held Jake's gaze. Jake offered a slight, one-shouldered shrug in return. Wasn't something you broadcast to strangers, was it? Not even helpful ones.

"And he says he don't believe she was on her own." Jimbo was still talking. "Told us to keep an eye out." He stamped his feet to warm them. "Rather do that from next to a fire, though."

"Ya tell 'im she was by 'erself when we grabbed 'er?" Billy barked a harsh laugh. "'Sides, if they come lookin', we can handle a bunch of goddamn spics, right?"

"Hell, yeah." Jimbo's breath was a plume of white in front of his face.

"An' hey," McCuskey Junior went on with another guffaw, "if nobody don' wan' her, I can think of somethin' else the bitch'd be good for. She ain't gone fat yet." He grabbed his crotch with one hand, leaving little to the imagination. Jake stiffened involuntarily, his fingers curling more tightly around the Beretta's grip.

"Easy, Jake," Chavez warned him softly. Jake forced himself to stay in place, though everything in him screamed to start moving and get Anna away from these assholes as soon as possible. He tried to placate his conscience with the fact that he and Chavez had come to the right place and that they'd rescue her as soon as the coast was clear.

Jimbo let out a laugh of his own. "So long as you don't keep her all to yourself."

"Course not." Junior smirked drunkenly. He flapped a loose hand at the barn. "She in there?"

"Uh-huh."

Jake couldn't stop a small exclamation of relief from escaping. She _was_ here; they weren't too late. He exchanged a glance with Chavez, who grinned grimly, giving Jake a small nod of understanding.

"Hey, wait up!" Jimbo's shout snagged Jake's attention back to the yard. Hurrying to catch up with McCuskey Junior, who was lumbering none too steadily toward the barn, Jimbo grabbed the younger man's sleeve. "You don't mean straight away, do ya?"

"Why not? A'least we get our fun outta her, before my dad decides to get rid o' her." Billy stumbled as he yanked free from Jimbo's hold. He scowled. "Mebbe ya think ya ain' man enough for her no more?" Chuckling, he went on, "Shit, dude, ya shoulda seen your face af'er she kicked ya in the nuts..."

Jimbo's brows drew down in irritation. "Bitch learned better," he growled, smacking one fist into the other palm.

_God, Anna..._ Jake swallowed, hard. "We gotta do something," he whispered urgently. "If they―." He couldn't continue. He didn't need to; Chavez had heard the exchange too. They couldn't wait any longer.

Chavez looked unhappy about it, though. He dipped his head at the Beretta, its steel cold in Jake's hand. "How many rounds?"

"Twenty-five." Jake'd started out with a full clip of thirty. He'd had to use a couple to chase off a pair of hungry dogs, after throwing rocks hadn't discouraged the animals from trying to steal their backpacks.

"Hm." Jaw set grimly, Chavez let his gaze wander around the yard a last time, running a visual check of the house and the four scumbags they could see. Billy had reached the barn door, and was arguing with the two guards posted there. "Four guys in the yard," Chavez muttered, "and we don't know how many in the house. Or the barn."

"I know, but―." Jake'd be damned if he'd sit by and do nothing while that bastard raped Anna.

"I hear ya." Chavez had pulled out his own gun. "Stay here, cover me. Watch the house."

"Okay." Jake shifted on to his knees, crawling until he had a good view of the house and could aim the Beretta at the front door. Though the porch was filled with shadows, he could make out the outline of the door from the light filtering around the cracks at the edges.

Chavez had raised himself in a crouch, two hands on his gun, ready to duck out from behind the tractor, when they heard the sudden growl of an engine, loud in the still night. The next instant, a beam of light washed over them, bright enough to momentarily blind Jake.

"Dammit!" Chavez dropped back behind the huge wheel, sucking in a mouthful of air, and grumbling to himself about needing to watch the road. Jake rolled over until he was certain he was out of sight, side by side again with Chavez, both of them leaning against the tractor's tire. Once Jake had his thumping heart under control, he cautiously peeked around the tire again.

A dark-colored Hummer was slowly rolling to a halt next to the pickup. The passenger door flew open, and a squat, middle-aged man wearing a padded camouflage jacket and a military style fold-down hat jumped out. "What the hell d'you think you're doin'?" he snarled, stomping over to the barn with large, furious strides, the headlamps of his Hummer making his shadow run ahead of him and loom up against the barn doors. "Goddammit, Billy, what did I say 'bout not messin' with the fuckin' merchandise?"

Jake didn't need to see the way the four men standing near the barn's doors had sprung to attention to figure out that this had to be McCuskey. Though he wasn't tall, the man exuded power and determination.

Jake swallowed a cold clump of fear that had stuck in his throat, glancing at Chavez. The other man was too focused on the goings-on in the yard to pay Jake any attention. He spared a moment to wonder why both of them had missed the sound of the Hummer's engine as it was coming up the track. The noise must have been washed away by the wind, blowing away from the farm, or they'd surely have heard it sooner. And if the slaver had arrived thirty seconds later, he and Chavez would've been caught with their pants down, figuratively speaking, finding themselves easy targets caught between McCuskey, and his guards. The odds of survival were already stacked against them badly enough, but if they'd died, Anna would've―.

He shuddered again, shaking his head to banish the mental images, and tried to concentrate on what he was seeing and hearing—just in time to see McCuskey slap his son in the face, hard. "Get your goddamn drunk ass into the goddamn house."

Judging by McCuskey's anger, Anna was safe from Billy's advances for while longer.

"But Pa―," Junior whined. "Wa'n't gonna do anythin'. Jus' yank 'er chain some."

"Now!"

McCuskey Junior slunk away to the house, proverbial tail between his legs, not looking half as tough as he had five minutes earlier. The other three thugs shot anxious glances at McCuskey. It was clear to Jake the slaver ruled his crew with an iron fist.

"Wasn't my idea to―," Jimbo began.

"Shut the hell up." At the barked order, Jimbo snapped his mouth shut so fast, Jake imagined he could hear his teeth clacking all the way from his hiding place behind the tractor. "Go check around the house."

"Yes, Boss." Jimbo trotted away and out of sight around the corner of the farmhouse. Jake watched him go, anxiously trying to keep track of who went where, while McCuskey addressed the other two guards.

"Pete, Mark, spread out. Watch the road." He turned and flapped a hand at a fourth man who'd walked up behind him, who must have been driving the Hummer and ordered him to, "Follow me."

The two guards named Pete and Mark gave McCuskey a quick salute and hurried toward the entrance to the yard, passing Jake and Chavez so closely that Jake could have reached out a hand and grabbed their boot laces. Luckily for Jake and Chavez, they were so eager to follow McCuskey's orders to the letter that they didn't glance around them as they headed down the track. Pressing himself tightly against the tractor's wheel, Jake prayed the snow had covered their tracks enough they were no longer visible in the darkness.

"Stay here," Chavez hissed at Jake.

"What―?" Jake wanted to ask, but Chavez was already gone, disappearing into the night without a sound. Jake had an impression of a shadow moving as he rounded the barn and then he lost sight of him altogether.

Jake groaned inwardly. Wasn't that great? What was he supposed to do?

He snatched a final look at McCuskey as the gang's leader and his driver went into the barn. In spite of himself, Jake tensed. Should he follow them? This might be his best chance, but would he be able to take out both men before they could raise the alarm? Or should he follow Chavez' order and stay where he was.

For what it was worth, he didn't think Anna was in immediate danger. She was valuable to McCuskey. On the other hand, any minute she was in that scumbag's hands was one minute too long. Torn between the desire to act, and not wanting to put Anna at any further risk by botching the rescue attempt, he wavered indecisively behind the tractor.

A few agonizing minutes and several aborted attempts at starting for the barn later, a body plopped next to Jake on the ground. Jake's heart jumped into his throat as a fresh shot of adrenaline blasted through him. Whirling around to defend himself, he nearly fired his Beretta before he recognized Chavez. He hadn't heard him come back in the rush of the wind around the tractor. "Dammit, man."

"Gotta watch your back, Jake." Chavez shot him an unrepentant grin, before the humor drained from his features. "What's up?"

"McCuskey went in to see her, with another guy. Those other three―." He broke off, squinting at Chavez warily. "Where'd _you_ go?"

Another flash of a grim smile. "Won't have to worry 'bout them anymore."

The way Chavez spoke made Jake decide he didn't want to know.

Not bothering to clarify further, Chavez stuck his head around the tractor wheel before pulling his head back and looking intently at Jake. "Just the two of them?"

"Assuming nobody was inside with her."

"Hm."

"We should―." Jake began.

He broke off as the sound of voices drifted over to them. Chavez scooted further back behind the wheel. Lying flat on his belly again, Jake peered under the tractor to see McCuskey and his underling reappear.

"Should I put a man on her?" the underling asked, shoving the doors shut and fumbling with the padlock.

McCuskey thought it over. "Nah," he decided. "Nobody I trust not to touch her." He smacked his gloved hands together. "Lock up tight and get Jimbo and the others. Y'all can come inside."

The other thug scratched his neck in puzzlement. "But she just told you she ain't alone―?"

McCuskey snorted a laugh and Jake could see his teeth gleam in the light of the Hummer's headlamps. "Ya think the dumb bitch would admit she was alone? 'Sides," he tilted his head to peer up into the storm. "Don't matter if she's tellin' the truth. Ain't nobody comin' out to rescue her in this weather."

A minute later, McCuskey had disappeared into the house, after detouring past the Hummer to switch off the lights. His deputy muttered in annoyance as the yard was plunged into darkness and dug out a flashlight to finish with the padlock. In the light spilling sideways from the dancing beam, Jake saw him turn and beging walk past the tractor, calling out into the dark night, "Pete, Mike? Get your asses―."

His hail ended abruptly in a grunt, and he fell to the ground, revealing Chavez standing behind him. Jake blinked; he'd never even noticed the other man had moved from their cover.

Chavez lugged the body, its head lolling on its neck, around the tractor and out of sight of the house. Jake stared at the dead guy, his mouth dry, until Chavez poked him in the shoulder and offered him the flashlight. "Now, let's get your girl."

As Jake clambered shakily to his feet, the wind got a good grip on him, and he shivered. The snow had soaked into his jeans and the front of his jacket. He ignored the freezing cold and got ready to dart toward the barn when he realized Chavez was standing considering the house thoughtfully. "Hey," Jake asked softly. "What're you thinking?"

"Gotta make sure nobody can follow us." Chavez dipped his head at the Hummer and Billy's pickup. Sabotaging their cars would be a good idea. "Shouldn't be anyone in the barn, so you'll be fine on your own. Get your girl out and get away. Don't wait for me." He jogged off, not waiting for Jake's response.

Jake huffed a wry laugh. _Concerned citizen, my ass_. Chavez was far too competently sneaky for that to be all he was. Jake wasn't gonna complain, though. Not when Chavez was helping him save Anna.

Focusing on his own task, Jake loped toward the barn, careful not to slip in the snow. As he'd feared, the padlock was heavy and the doors were sturdy. He wasn't going to be able to break in, not without making the kind of racket that would bring McCuskey and his crew running. And the doors were in plain sight of several of the farmhouse's windows, so he didn't want to linger any longer than necessary: trying to pick the lock was out of the question—never mind he didn't have the tools to try it with. No, he had to find another way into the barn.

Glancing back to see where Chavez had gotten to and finding no sign of the man at all, Jake started creeping along the barn wall. Another glance showed him people were moving around inside the house, casting shapes in the lit windows. Otherwise everything remained quiet; the remaining slavers must still be unaware that he and Chavez were sneaking around.

Moving slowly, Jake searched with his fingers for a window or a loose board that he could pry out to make a gap to crawl through. But whatever else you could accuse McCuskey of, not maintaining his barn properly wasn't it.

His frustration growing―he didn't have time for this!―Jake rounded the next corner. He was at the back of the barn now and could no longer be seen from the house. Pricking up his ears for any signs of someone coming back out into the yard, he began investigating the rear wall. There! His heart leaped with hope: a second, smaller door. It also turned out to be locked, but it gave a fraction when he pushed against it, and the wood didn't feel as strong or unyielding as the rest of the barn. He might be able to pry it open.

Cautiously directing the flashlight around in the inky blackness of the night, he caught a glimpse of a chopping block, with an ax set into its surface. He grinned triumphantly. Thank God for whoever had been sloppy enough to leave the ax out. Moving across to the chopping block, he jerked the ax out and carefully tested the blade. Fortunately, the carelessness of the ax's owner didn't extend to the ax head itself: the blade was sharp.

Properly armed, he slunk back to the barn and started hacking at the door. Hoping the howling wind would muffle the soft _thwack_ of the blade biting into the wood, he aimed carefully, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. It only took three blows around the lock before he could shoulder the door open.

Setting down the ax, he slipped through the narrow opening. The dusty air carried a strange, unpleasant smell, very different from the comforting scents of fresh hay and manure Jake associated with farm barns. It was also pitch black, even darker than outside, where the snow had reflected what sparse light there was. He waited for a minute, hoping his eyes would adjust, while he kept his ears open for any sounds of life. He heard none.

Several minutes later, he still couldn't make out his hand even if he waved it in front of his face, so he decided to risk the flashlight. Shielding the beam in his palm, he switched it on. The small glow he allowed to escape through his fingers was enough to confirm the barn was empty of livestock, although the stalls were filled with straw.

He cautiously moved along the barn, aware that McCuskey might've set a guard on Anna after all. It seemed McCuskey's distrust of his men ran deep, though, and the barn appeared completely deserted. Until, as he peered into one of the stalls, he heard a noise.

He stilled, listening intently. There! The sound of rapid, frightened breathing, barely audible over the howl of the storm outside. "Anna?"

There was a second or two of stunned silence, as whoever had made that sound held their breath, before the whispered reply came. "Jake?"

"It's me." Jake angled the flashlight in the direction of the voice and discovered Anna on her knees in one of the stalls on the opposite side. Her hands were cuffed around one of the barn's rough-hewn uprights. Oddly, her backpack was at her feet. He ran over to kneel next to her. "Are you alone?"

"What?" For an instant, she sounded puzzled, and then she nodded. "Yeah, they went away." She twisted around on the dirty straw, angling her body awkwardly toward him. "Jake, I'm sorry, I didn't―. I knew you'd come for me, but I didn't know if you even knew where to look and―." She shuddered, "―and then I heard you, and I hoped―but I was scared it was them again and―." She hiccuped a fresh sob, and Jake squeezed her arm through her coat, wanting badly to gather her to him.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm here now." In the gleam of the flashlight, he examined the cuffs on her wrists, cursing softly: they were steel law enforcement issue. Hard to break open.

Anna was clutching something between her fingers. It looked like a thin wire, maybe a paperclip. Jake closed his own hand over hers. Her fingers were cold to the touch. "You were trying to pick the cuffs?"

"Uh-huh." She sounded calmer than before.

"Any luck?"

He couldn't see her, but he could feel her shake her head. "Not so far."

"Okay." Letting go of her hands and pushing back to his feet, he allowed a small beam of light to escape through his fingers again, letting it dance around the barn. "We'll figure it out." Pointing the beam at the far end of the barn, he discovered a tool rack on the wall near the door he'd snuck in through, a pair of bolt cutters dangling from a peg. He smirked in triumph. "Hang on."

He scurried over to the rack and grabbed the cutters and hurried back. The thin chain linking the two cuffs together fell away with a satisfying _snap_ as he closed the bolt cutter's blades around it. Anna let out a small noise of pleasure and rolled her shoulders to relief the ache of the awkward position she'd been forced into.

Putting the bolt cutters down, he helped her up. As they regained their feet, she flung herself into his arms, clinging tightly to him with her face hidden in his shoulder. "Thank you." The words were muffled by his jacket. A little embarrassed, Jake held her for a moment, before reluctantly pushing her away.

"We gotta go." Every minute they stayed in the barn was another minute for McCuskey to change his mind about not needing any guards or another minute in which Junior could grow bold enough to defy his father's orders.

Anna sniffled, wiping a hand across her face, and nodded. Taking her by the elbow, Jake nudged her ahead of him toward the door at the rear of the barn, grabbing her pack with his other hand. Judging by the weight, Anna's kidnappers hadn't searched it yet; he was absently grateful for their incompetence. Getting away and getting home safely would be so much harder if they lost her sleeping bag and the food she was carrying.

They'd just reached the door, where snow was already piling up inside, pushed by the wind, when Jake heard an engine growl outside. "Wait." He snatched at Anna to stop her and she clamped both hands onto his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh.

_BOOM!_

The explosion came so suddenly and unexpectedly that Anna let out a small shriek of fright. Around them, the barn shook with the force of the shockwave, showering them with dust from the rafters. "Down!" Shoving Anna to the ground, Jake covered her body with his, expecting the barn to collapse around them.

Nothing of the sort happened and once the echo of the detonation faded, and his ears were working again, all Jake could detect was the howl of the wind and the crackle of flames. What the hell...? Chavez, his mind answered instantly. Had to be. He'd no idea what Chavez had done, but if there ever was a time to get out, it was now.

He yanked Anna back to her feet and shoved her through the door ahead of him. She reeled against the sudden onslaught of the wind, and he put an arm around her to steady her. "Are you okay? The baby―?" She nodded. "Can you walk?" Another dip of her head. "Okay, let's get out of here."

He guided her away from the barn in a straight line, not caring which direction they were going, as long as it was away from the farm. When he glanced back after a hundred yards or so, the barn was outlined against the flickering orange glow of a huge fire blazing somewhere beyond it. Jake chuckled grimly: the fire was big enough that Chavez had to have blown up the entire farm house. The thought sobered him: he hoped the guy was okay.

They'd gone another half a mile and come upon a ditch running parallel to a field when Jake stopped them. "Wait here." He dropped Anna's pack, and gestured for her to crawl into the ditch, which was half-full with snow.

She snatched his sleeve. "Where...?"

"I gotta get my backpack." He had no idea why they were still whispering. "I'll be right back."

As he turned around to go for the pack, he saw someone was following them, a dark shape running in a crouch along the snowy track he and Anna had left in the snow. Anna made a small, frightened noise as she also spotted the figure. Hearing it, Jake swore to himself that, no matter what, he wouldn't let them grab her again. He reached for his Beretta, aiming it at the shape as it approached, moving to keep himself and the gun between their pursuer and Anna.

"Don't shoot, it's me." The shadow stopped a dozen yards away and straightened, holding its hands out sideways. "Glad to see you paying attention, though." The last was said with a hint of laughter.

Jake lowered the gun. "Chavez." He twisted his head to give Anna an encouraging smile across his shoulder. "This is Chavez. He helped me rescue you."

"Um, thank you." Anna peered around Jake distrustfully.

"Welcome, Miss." Chavez shot her a toothy grin. "Think you might need this." He shoved something heavy and bulky at Jake. Catching it awkwardly, Jake recognized his backpack.

"Thanks." Jake's mouth quirked in wry amusement as he slipped the pack on. "That was you?" He indicated the farm. The flames were no longer blazing as high into the sky so either the snow was dousing the flames, or the fire had consumed all its fuel and was dying out.

"Yep. Those bastards aren't gonna snatch anyone ever again." Chavez' tone was cold and grim, causing goosebumps to spring up all over Jake's skin.

"They're dead?"

"Ones we saw, anyway. I can't be sure there weren't more, so let's get outta here, alright?" He jerked his head in the direction Jake and Anna had been heading. "We can stop and catch up later."

o0o

They slogged through the snow for hours, until Jake lost all sense of time or distance. Chavez, carrying Anna's backpack, walked in front to cut a path through the loose snow. They'd have had easier going if they'd gone back to the rutted track, but Chavez shook his head when Jake suggested it. One of McCuskey's neighbors might've seen the explosion and come to check it out, he reminded Jake. He didn't need to add that McCuskey's remaining neighbors would all be cut from the same cloth as the dead slaver and they could expect no help from them.

So they struggled on as best as they could through the snowy fields. Anna leaned more heavily on Jake with every step―evidence the ordeal had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit―and Jake grew worried about her and the baby. His fear of what would happen if any of McCuskey's gang caught up with them was greater, though, so he kept encouraging her onward, promising rest and safety soon.

"This way." Chavez' order was curt, none of them with breath to spare for full sentences. He was pointing to the left. Following the outstretched hand, Jake realized with a start that daylight had seeped back into the world and he could actually make out the dilapidated shed Chavez had spotted from several hundred yards away. Around them, everything was covered with a blanket of soft, white snow, leaving the landscape featureless except for their trail. It stretched back behind them, easy to follow for anyone who wanted to now that it had stopped snowing. It couldn't be helped; Anna was at the end of her tether, and Jake didn't think he could walk much further himself.

He flapped a faint wave in Chavez' direction to tell him to go ahead and bent his head toward Anna. "A few more steps," he urged her, "and you can rest." He didn't even know if she heard him.

The reached the shed five minutes later. Chavez appeared in the narrow, slanting door. "There's some snow come in through the roof, but the rest of it's dry. And it'll keep us out of sight."

Jake snorted, tilting his head toward the trampled swath they'd cut through the immaculate whiteness, and Chavez offered a wry chuckle in return

"It'll snow again later," he promised, sounding unconcerned. Jake felt surprisingly reassured. Though he barely knew the man, he trusted him to know what he was doing, after what had happened at the farm. And Chavez was probably right about the snow, too. The sky was a dark slate gray and the wind was still strong. There was definitely more snow in the offing. With luck, their tracks would be filled in soon. Jake hoped nobody would come after them before then.

He helped Anna over the threshold and into the shed. Chavez had been right: a pile of snow had accumulated in a corner, but the rest of the shed, while gloomy, was dry. Sagging bales of old straw stacked against one wall gave off a musty smell. He helped Anna sit on one of the bales, and she slumped forward, curling in on herself.

"She okay?" Chavez briefly blocked the meager light filtering in through the narrow door as he ducked back inside.

"Don't know," Jake admitted, digging through his pack in search of the flashlight. Finding it, he switched it on, angling it so it wouldn't blinding Anna as he knelt in front of her. "Hey." She raised her head slowly, trying to smile at him and failing miserably. Her eyes were too large in a too pale face and a darkening bruise bloomed on her left cheek, standing out starkly against her pallor. Jake hadn't noticed it before, too preoccupied with getting away. "They hit you?" He reached up a hand to touch it, pulling back at the last instant.

Anna sucked in her bottom lip. "Once."

"Bastards." The curse Chavez uttered was quiet, but full of feeling. Jake couldn't agree more. Renewed hatred for the assholes who'd taken Anna surged through him. He automatically took a look back at the door, almost ready to get up and head back out again despite his exhaustion: if Chavez hadn't killed the slavers already, he'd have gone back and finish the job.

"Jake?" As if she knew what he was thinking, Anna did her best to muster another weak smile. "I'm alright." She shifted, resting one hand on her stomach. "We both are."

He scanned her for other injuries, wishing he could take her to a hospital to make sure she was okay. "God, when you were gone, I thought―." His voice cracked. Dropping the flashlight on the bale of straw, he scooped her up, pulling her to him and hiding his face in her neck. She clung to him as tightly as he held her, seeking reassurance, and they remained like that for what felt a long time.

Reluctantly, Jake pulled back at last, taking her hands between his. They were freezing cold, and he started chafing them, trying to warm her up. He observed with startled surprise that Chavez had dragged some of the hay bales into place to create a rudimentary screen between them and the cold air coming in through the sagging door. Jake wished they could light a fire but with all the dry straw, that was much too dangerous; the last thing they needed to do was to burn down their shelter.

Something chinked softly as he rubbed Anna's hands. Pulling up her sleeve, Jake discovered the handcuffs still dangling around her wrists. He'd completely forgotten them. He frowned angrily. "Let's get these off. You still have that thing you were using to pick the lock?"

"I do." Freeing one of her hands from his grip, Anna sat up straighter so she could dig into her jeans' pocket and hand the object over to Jake. He held it in the beam of the flashlight, at first thinking, as he had in the barn, that it was a straightened paperclip. But when he got a good look at it, he saw it was a mangled earring. He quirked a brow in surprise, before bending over the first of the cuffs.

Five minutes later, he was cursing in frustration: the lock stubbornly refused to give. It always looked so easy on TV.

"Let me...?" Chavez knelt next to Jake, palm out to accept the wire. Jake passed it over and scrambled out of the way to give Chavez room. Seconds ticked by. Then there was a click, loud in the silence, and Anna let out a small cry of joy.

"Better, huh?" Chavez grinned up at her, and she gave him a shy smile in return. Jake leaned forward, impatiently waiting for Chavez to finish the job, and watched Chavez starting on the second cuff. That took even less time. Handing her back the earring, Chavez removed the cuff from her wrist. Soon as he was done, Jake scurried forward, jostling Chavez aside. He curled his fingers around Anna's wrists again, running his thumbs over the red angry marks the cuffs had left.

"Who―?" she asked, giving a quick nod in Chavez' direction. Getting the cuffs off and being able to rest had brought her vigor back and her curiosity: before that, she hadn't been interested in who or what Chavez was.

Jake quirked up a corner of his mouth. "Best not to ask, I think." Anna was still toying with what was left of the earring hoop, rolling the silvery wire between her fingers absently, and Jake dipped his head toward it. "Good thing you had these, huh? Why'd you bring 'em, anyway?" He vaguely remembered seeing her wearing them, that day she'd visited him at his apartment in San Diego to ask for his help. He didn't think he'd seen her wear them since. They certainly weren't practical on a cross country hike, and she was smarter than that.

Anna didn't respond immediately. Lifting his gaze, he saw her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Freddy gave them to me," she whispered. "For my last birthday."

"Oh..." Mentally smacking himself, Jake struggled to find something to say and came up empty.

"Ahem." Chavez cleared his throat, sparing Jake further embarrassment. "I'll go scout around. Check there won't be any surprises. You kids behave, okay?" The last words were accompanied by a grin for Jake's benefit. Jake could tell from his expression that, while it was a good idea to secure their perimeter, his offer to go take a look around was also partly an excuse to give them some time alone.

"Sure." Jake's voice was hoarse. "Thanks."

Chavez disappeared. Jake turned back to Anna. The spark was starting to reappear in her eyes, though she still looked ready to keel over.

"I know it's silly to keep them, but―." She spoke so quietly he could hardly make out the words. There were tears in her voice as she went on, "I don't have anything else left to remember him by. And... and I miss him, sometimes."

Jake's chest tightened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't―I didn't mean to―." He didn't know what he was trying to tell her. Was he apologizing for bringing up bad memories? Partly, yes. There was something else, something much worse, that he should apologize to her for, as well. He drew in a deep breath, and started over. "What happened the other day, what I did―."

"No, please, don't." Anna put a finger to his lips to silence him. "That's okay, I'm not upset about that. In fact..." Spots of color rose in her cheeks. "I sorta liked it," she muttered. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"What?" Jake blinked, shocked. She couldn't believe that, could she? "No, of course not. Just―." Not sure what it was he could say to her―how could he tell her that it was okay, after he'd tried to apologize for that same kiss not a minute earlier? He cleared his throat and drew away from her. "You should get some sleep," he suggested, cutting of any further discussion. Her backpack, with the sleeping bag still rolled up on top of it, lay nearby. Chavez must've left it there for her.

"Okay."

Jake couldn't make out if she sounded relieved or bothered. "We can figure it out later, right?"

o0o

Anna slept through rest of the day, while Jake and Chavez alternated catnaps with bouts of restless roving around their hideout to make sure they remained undiscovered and safe. Around noon, it started to snow heavily again. When it was Jake's turn to crawl out for a scan of the area, he discovered, to his relief, that their half-frozen tracks were rapidly filling in.

Breathing more easily with every passing minute―the longer it took for anyone to find them, the more convinced Jake became they'd made a clean getaway―he snuck back inside, settling on the ground next to Anna, who lay curled up under both their sleeping bags. He glanced down at her in the gloomy light, her barely visible features smoothed out in sleep.

Sensing eyes on him, he raised his head. Chavez was watching him from under his brows.

"What?" Jake asked, trying not to sound challenging. Chavez' sudden scrutiny was making him nervous and self-conscious.

Chavez smirked without speaking, and went back to rubbing a cloth over the gun part he was cleaning. Despite knowing better, knowing he should drop it, Jake couldn't help but repeat, "No, _what?_"

Chavez dropped his hands into his lap. "Wonderin' why you'd drag a pregnant woman cross-country. One who isn't your wife or girlfriend, but whom you clearly have a thing for."

"I don't have _a thing_ for Anna," Jake objected.

"Sure." Chavez' lips twitched in disbelief.

"I _don't_." Again, a memory flashed before Jake: the fire, the music, the feel of her lips against his... He guiltily shoved the recollections away. That had been a mistake he wasn't going to repeat any time soon, no matter what Anna said. "And the rest―." He wanted to tell Chavez it was none of his business, that helping them didn't give him a right to pry, but he was too tired to muster the energy. "The rest is a long story."

Chavez held his gaze for a long time, before he began reassembling his gun with quick, deft fingers. "Okay."

Jake blinked at the response. He'd expected pressing questions, insistent prodding. "That's it? Okay?"

"Yep." Chavez was finished with his weapon and he slipped it back under his jacket. He stashed the cloth he'd been using in another pocket. "One day, when all this," he flicked a hand around, "is over, you can tell me, huh?"

Jake stared at him for a few heartbeats before letting out a wry chuckle. "Yeah, one day."

o0o

At nightfall, they melted snow to make supper over a small fire Chavez had gotten going outside. As they were waiting for the water to boil, Chavez told them it was time for him to leave.

"Now?" Anna asked incredulously. "Don't you want something to eat? And it's dark out, and snowing."

"Best time to disappear." Chavez gave her a slight smile. "But I meant after we'd eaten. And I'd stay with you guys, see you home safe, except―." He shrugged, giving them a wry smirk. "Got places of my own to be, things to do."

Jake snorted a laugh at Chavez' mysterious explanation. A part of him regretted that their paths would split—the road ahead would still be full of danger and Chavez was obviously a good man to have around when things got dicey—but at the same time, he'd never expected Chavez to tag along with them after the rescue. He'd recognized the type: Chavez was a loner.

Abruptly, something else dawned on him, and his amusement faded. After the mad dash away from the farm last night, he'd basically dogged Chavez' heels without caring where they were going. And even if he had, the darkness and the swirling snow would've given him no clue as to which direction they'd been headed. Short version: Jake had no clue where they were.

"Um," he began, embarrassed at having to admit that he was lost. Chavez didn't laugh at him, simply asked if Jake had a map. "Yes, we do," and Jake dug up the map of Texas. It was small scale, and the Oklahoma panhandle was only roughly sketched in at the top edge of the map, but it was good enough for Chavez show Jake where the burned-out farm should be relative to their position.

Jake considered the map. "So, the trading post is here?" He caught Chavez' confirming nod. "Okay." Once he'd reoriented himself, it was easy for him to figure out how to get back on their road north.

"Where you wanna go?" Chavez asked.

Before he was able to stop himself, Jake let slip, "Jericho, Kansas. I grew up there."

If Chavez' eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly at the name, Jake put it down to the dim gloom inside the shed, which made it hard to see the map at all. 'Cause what interest could a man like Chavez possibly have in a small town in western Kansas? But Jake clamped his mouth shut anyway; he hadn't been so careful all this time about not telling strangers where exactly they were going for no good reason. And while he trusted Chavez further than anyone else they'd met on the road, that habit was hard to ignore. Besides, it didn't matter: Chavez was off to do his own thing, anyway.

Not needing to pack, Chavez was ready to go five minutes after they finished eating. Anna hugged him, muttering another thank-you, and Chavez lowered his head and whispered something in her ear. Jake couldn't hear what it was, but Anna's eyes grew round and a slight blush reddened her cheeks. She nodded, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, before her gaze dipped briefly in Jake's direction.

"Jake." Chavez held out his hand.

Jake gripped it. "Thanks. For everything." Those simple words couldn't begin to convey the gratitude he felt toward the other man: for his help, his quiet support―for giving him back Anna.

Chavez rolled his shoulders, mouth quirking up further. "Just doin' my part."

Jake let out a laugh of his own. "Of course."

He followed him out and Chavez turned to Jake a final time. "You'll be okay here till morning. Weather should've improved by then, too." Chavez looked briefly at Anna, huddled in the doorway of the shed, her arms wrapped around herself. "Remember the road you need to go?"

"Got it all in here." Jake tapped the side of his skull. "And," he added with a chuckle, "marked on the map."

"Okay." Chavez hunched deeper in the heavy jacket he was wearing. He traveled light but didn't seem to be lacking anything he might need. "See you later."

Jake laughed again—fat chance they'd run into each other a second time—and Anna gave a small wave as Chavez set off with a final backward glance. Jake watched him for a minute until the darkness and fresh snow coming down swallowed him up. Shivering, he ducked back into the shed. He and Anna would wait for daylight before resuming their trek.

Only when they were snug in their sleeping bags, Anna securely in Jake's arms, did she mutter, "Do you think he'll be okay?"

Jake chuckled. "Chavez? Yeah. He'll be fine." He doubted they'd ever learn for certain, though.

o0o

Whoever Chavez really was, he was one hell of a weather man. They woke to blue skies and a pale sun sparkling off of the painfully white snow. Jake regarded the glittering landscape warily as they got ready to leave. The deep snow would make for hard going, at least until they made it back to the road. And they ran the risk of snow blindness. "Wait up," he told Anna as she lifted her backpack.

"What's going on?" Her voice quavered with fear and he gave himself a mental kick. She was still plenty spooked after having been kidnapped to be afraid at the slightest idea something was wrong.

"Everything's fine. But we need to do something about this glare." Thinking for a moment, he dug through his backpack until he unearthed an old shirt that he'd torn beyond repair on some sharp rocks several weeks ago. He'd slid down a river's crumbling bank to fill up their water bottles and had lost his balance. He'd no idea why he'd kept the shirt but it would come in handy now. It didn't take him long to tear the shirt up into a couple of long strips and tie one around Anna's temples to protect her eyes without completely blindfolding her. She chuckled in embarrassment as she poked at the material. And true, Jake acknowledged with a crooked grin as he tied the other strip around his own face, it did make them look ridiculous. But better than being half-blinded by the sun's reflection. Besides, who was there to laugh at them?

Prepared at last, they finally left the shed behind.

o0o

As Jake had feared, the snow slowed them down compared to their previous pace. While most of it melted away after a few days, Christmas Eve found them still thirty miles south of Jericho.

They huddled beneath their blankets in a dry ditch, under a cold, starry sky. Jake held Anna close, both for warmth and for mutual comfort, while they passed the time by telling each other stories of other Christmasses in low voices, and he idly marveled how perfectly she fit in the crook of his arm.

Staring up, Jake spied a meteor streaking across the sky, and he pointed it out to Anna quickly, before it burned out.

"A shooting star..." She twisted around in his embrace and raised her head. He could just make out her smile by the white glint of her teeth. "Your turn to make a wish."

He chuckled quietly, remembering he'd offered her the same opportunity early on in their long journey. "I wish―." His voice trailed off as he listed all the things he wanted in his mind. There were so many things to wish for. Right now, though, he only wanted for those last thirty miles to go by quickly and unadventurously, so they'd be home soon.

"Don't say it out loud." Anna reached up, planting gloved fingers to his lips before he could give voice to any of his desires. "It won't come true if you do."

He smiled down at her. "Okay."

His mood sobered as he mulled over what might happen once they arrived home. Getting to Jericho had sounded like such a brilliant idea, but as they got closer, he was beginning to second-guess himself more and more. Anna would be safe, yes, and he'd have kept his promise to Freddy. But beyond that... She was pregnant and alone. And deep down, he knew he wouldn't mind if she―. He shied away from finishing the thought. No, better not go there. That was the road talking, and their mutual dependence. The reality of living in town, among others, with his family, seeing Dad... That would be another matter entirely.

The silence had lengthened, and Jake was just thinking that Anna might've fallen asleep, when she drew in a deeper breath. "Jake...?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. I know this wasn't what you signed up for―."

"Shh, don't―."

"No, please, let me finish." She shifted around, snuggling closer against him, her cheek on his chest. "I loved Freddy. Still do. But... he's gone. And... and―." She broke off mid-sentence, and Jake tightened his grip on her. He wanted to interrupt, tell her it didn't matter. He resisted the urge; she'd only shush him again. After a minute, she continued, her voice trembling. "I know he'd want me to move on with my life, with the baby. And if that was with someone else, he'd be okay with it?"

The last came out as a question, and Jake hesitated. Was she asking his opinion on what Freddy would think? For his blessing? Or was she asking—? What could he possibly say to that? "Um..." He cleared his throat. "Let's get to Jericho first, okay? We'll see how it goes?"

She sniffled another sigh. "Okay." Her voice was muffled, but he could detect something in it: disappointment, relief, uncertainty?

"Hey," he hugged her tighter to him. "No matter what, I'll look out for you, 'kay?"

He felt her move her head against his chest. "Okay."

After that, they remained silent, both busy with their own thoughts, until they fell asleep.

o0o

_Welcome to Jericho - Founded 1876_―the mere sight of the painted wooden sign made Jake's throat constrict painfully, even as his stomach fluttered with excitement. Though they'd missed making it for Christmas by two days, they were almost home. He swallowed. What would they find? Would everyone be okay? And what about facing his father... What would Dad say? Would Jake even be welcome?

Yes, he answered himself, shaking off the doubts. Even if Dad was still upset, Mom would welcome him, would welcome Anna. He groped for Anna's hand without even realizing it, twining their fingers together despite the woolen gloves they'd taken from an abandoned house where they'd spent a night. He picked up his pace, knowing that as soon as they crested the low hill, they'd see the town spread out in the shallow valley below.

Reaching the summit, he halted, afraid to go on. But also so he could drink in the sight: the white church steeple, its tip catching the last of the daylight; the silvery thread of the Tacoma river far off in the distance; the park where they always had the summer fairs, its bare trees cloaked in evening gloom. The light was fading quickly and Jake assumed that Jericho, like every other town, lacked electricity. But even as they watched, he saw a handful of lights blinking on, sparkling points of brightness in the encroaching night. He smiled and hefted his pack.

"We'd best hurry." He didn't need to explain why to Anna.

If if were any other town, Jake wouldn't have dared approach after nightfall at all; people were nervous, trigger-happy. They were bound to shoot first and ask questions later when random strangers walked up out of the darkness.

But this time was different. This was Jericho.

This was home.

_**END**_

**Author's closing note**: after first posting this story I received a number of glowing reviews and comments (for which: thank you!) that nevertheless expressed disappointment with the story not including the family reunion in Jericho.

And I agree with those comments: I also would've very much liked to see such a reunion.

Unfortunately, taking Jake out of Jericho means there is a lot that will be completely different from what we saw in canon. And to do those differences justice would, in my view, require more than a simple reunion scene. It would require a completely new story. Not the "What if Jake had gone with Anna?" tale but the "What if Jake had not been in/near Jericho when the bombs went off?" story.

For example, I believe Johnston would've died from his infection. Without Jake, Eric may never have dared to go to Rogue River for medicine, and even if he had, I don't think he'd have survived and come back. And that's only one or two differences among many.

That said, I do have (vague!) plans to some day write that story, but since it will require some extensive speculation (and rewatching the show...) it won't be any time soon.

**Disclaimer**: this story is a transformative work based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series _Jericho_. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without author attribution.


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